Atsumu X Reader - Blog Posts

aaa i’m having exams this week but i cant stop thinking abt atsumu .. ur tongue lolling out to the side as he grips hard on ur thighs, spreading them apart for u while he fucks u stupid. “like that, huh? ya like me fuckin’ yer cunny stupid? lil bitch.” nd HE JUST HAS THAT FERAL LOOK IN HIS FACE AWOOOAGWHW u cant even form a sentence.!! just constant humphs nd moans of atsumu’s name. the exam sheet u were studying has been discarded onto the desk nd atsumu has u sitting on his lap on the leather chair. its not long before ur yelling out “tsumu, tsumu, tsumu!” bc ur walls begin to clamp around his cock n tears well out of ur eyes. “what? gonna cum already? pathetic whore.” despite his harsh words, he fucks harder into ur cunny, one of his fingers playing w ur sensitive little nub down there and its not long before ur gushing all around him, entire body shaking ...

🏃🏻‍♀️ i want atsumu2 choke me with his hands !! as he fucks me silly lol.. LIKE DO U EVER JUST FANTASISE ABOUT HIS COCK!! he’d tease u so bad u’ll probably cum from the teasing alone but hes not done n he just keeps teasing ya until ure babbling his name over&over like a dumb toy !!!!!!!

Rivalry: Atsumu Pt. 6 (NSFW)

The last thing you needed was to entertain whatever ridiculous emotions Hana had planted in your head. This was nothing—casual, meaningless, irrelevant. So what if Ayumi had her sights set on him? That wasn’t your problem. That wasn’t supposed to be your problem.

You tightened your grip on your bag as you pushed through the thick crowd flooding the hallways after the final bell. Students jostled past in waves, the air thick with chatter and the slamming of lockers, and you kept your head down, determined to get outside, to breathe fresh air, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and whatever stupid feelings were currently threatening your sanity.

You almost succeeded.

Until you caught sight of him.

There, just a few lockers down, leaning lazily against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the damn world—Miya Atsumu.

Your feet slowed before your brain could tell them not to. And when you lifted your gaze, your stomach dropped.

Of course she was there.

Ayumi Tanaka.

Standing far too close, laughing far too brightly, her hand reaching out to graze his forearm like she had every right to touch him.

You should have looked away. You wanted to look away. But your gaze locked onto the scene like a car crash—horrifying and impossible to tear your eyes from.

Atsumu, for his part, didn’t seem bothered. If anything, he looked downright amused, his trademark smirk tugging at his lips, golden eyes glinting with some private joke as he leaned in just slightly, replying with something you couldn’t hear but Ayumi clearly found hilarious.

Your jaw clenched.

It was nothing. You told yourself that firmly. You had no claim, no right, no reason to feel anything other than mild, passing irritation.

And yet—your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag, knuckles whitening.

Because he didn’t move away when she touched him. He didn’t look annoyed or uncomfortable. He looked entertained.

And that hot, bitter feeling you refused to name burned a little brighter.

You stood frozen for a moment longer than you should have—long enough that Ayumi’s laugh floated through the hallway and Atsumu’s eyes, lazy and unbothered, drifted up—

And met yours.

The second your gazes collided, it was like being struck.

His smirk faltered. Just slightly. But enough.

Your breath caught.

You whipped your head away, face burning, shoving your way through the crowd with sudden, frantic urgency.

God. What the hell was wrong with you?

You ducked your head and walked faster, heart pounding in your ears, as if you could outrun the flush creeping up your neck. As if you could outrun the way your chest was tight, painfully so, with something ugly and irrational you refused to name.

You weren’t jealous. That would be stupid. Ridiculous. Absolutely insane.

And yet, you could feel the slight prickle of irritation rising beneath your skin, your jaw tightening as you watched their all-too-pleasant exchange. It was short—nothing more than a few words, a soft laugh from her, an amused smirk from him—but it was enough.

Your feet carried you toward the gym building, the familiar path offering some sense of normalcy. Volleyball practice was soon, and you just needed to focus on that, not whatever unnecessary emotions had latched onto you.

But just as you stepped onto the school grounds, a voice cut through the air.

"Hey!"

You barely had a second to react before Atsumu jogged up to you, his usual smirk in place, golden eyes flickering with something far too amused for your liking. His easy stride barely looked like he had exerted any effort catching up to you, as if he knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him even if you tried.

"Damn, ya bolted outta there fast," he said, tilting his head, watching you closely. "Didn’t even wait for me."

You barely glanced at him, keeping your face carefully neutral. "Didn’t think you’d notice."

His smirk widened, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "I notice a lotta things about ya."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the sudden prickle of heat rising up your spine. "Don’t start."

Atsumu ignored you completely, falling into step beside you, rocking back slightly on his heels as if he were debating something in his head. Then, with an air of mock innocence, he said:

"So, I’m free tonight. If ya wanna hang out."

Your jaw clenched before you could stop it.

"Maybe not tonight, I'm a little busy," you bit out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could think them through. Then, before your brain could stop your mouth from making an absolutely catastrophic mistake, you added, "Why don't you ask if Ayumi Tanaka is free?"

Atsumu blinked, his smirk momentarily faltering. "Why on earth…?" His brows furrowed in genuine confusion—until something in his expression shifted.

And then, his smirk stretched into something completely insufferable.

"Are you jealous?"

Your spine stiffened. "What is there to be jealous of?" you scoffed, but you could already feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

Atsumu wasn’t buying it. "Oh, I dunno," he mused, tilting his head, watching you like a predator playing with its food. "Maybe ‘cause ya got a front-row seat to Ayumi flirtin’ with me and now ya can’t stand the thought of someone else takin’ your place?"

Your teeth ground together, a sharp flash of irritation lancing through your chest. "You're absolutely delusional if you think I’d ever feel threatened by some 2nd-year girl batting her eyelashes at you."

Atsumu let out a short laugh, full of nothing but mockery. "Right, ‘cause ya definitely didn’t look ready to rip her head off earlier."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning your gaze forward like you could force this conversation to be over. "Believe whatever lets you sleep at night, Miya. I don’t care."

"Oh yeah?" His voice was taunting, relentless, as he stepped in closer, his shoulder nearly brushing against yours. "Then why’re ya actin’ so weird? Feels like someone’s a little… bothered."

You whirled to face him, scowling. "The only thing that’s bothering me is you and your incessant need to make everything about yourself. Not everything is about you, Atsumu."

"Nah, see, that’s where yer wrong," he shot back, his smirk widening, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "When it comes to you, sweetheart, I think everything’s about me."

Your hands curled into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms, irritation crawling beneath your skin. He was impossible.

Just as you opened your mouth to snap back, another voice interrupted the moment.

"Oi! What are you two doin’ over there?"

Aran’s voice cut through the air, sharp and expectant.

Your heart lurched as you immediately shoved Atsumu back, blurting, "Nothing!"

Atsumu barely stumbled, laughing as he shot you a look that screamed this isn’t over before turning toward Aran. You, on the other hand, were left standing there, pulse thrumming, trying desperately to ignore the heat still buzzing beneath your skin.

Aran’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his brows furrowing slightly before he shook his head. "Well, practice is startin’. Get a move on."

"Yeah, yeah," Atsumu muttered, still too damn smug as he turned back toward you, the teasing look in his eyes shining.

You glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, before storming ahead, putting as much distance as possible between you and the walking migraine that was Miya Atsumu.

__

Practice went on as usual, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor, the rhythmic thuds of volleyballs being set and spiked filling the air. Yet, beneath it all, something felt off.

Atsumu, despite his best efforts, was being completely ignored.

And that was entirely intentional.

You were still fuming from earlier, his words grating against your skull like nails on a chalkboard. When it comes to you, sweetheart, I think everything’s about me.

Fine.

If he thought it was all about him, you’d make it impossible for him to think that.

You knew exactly how to get under Atsumu’s skin, how to piss him off in the most excruciating way possible. It wasn’t yelling, it wasn’t fighting—it was silence. He thrived on your reactions, fed off your irritation like it was oxygen. And you were going to starve him of it.

He tried everything. A few jabs at your form when you walked past, some pointed remarks meant to get a reaction, even purposefully setting the ball too high and glancing your way to see if you’d scowl at him.

Nothing.

You didn’t so much as spare him a glance.

The rest of the team noticed. It was impossible not to.

"Since when was she too high and mighty to bite back?" one of the first-years muttered, watching the scene unfold like it was some strange phenomenon.

"Are you honestly complaining?" Hitoshi responded flatly, shaking his head as he bent down to pick up a stray volleyball. "If anything, this is the quietest practice we’ve had in months."

Suna watched with mild amusement, his sharp eyes darting between the two of you. Atsumu, visibly simmering, and you, acting as if he didn’t exist. Fascinating.

By the time practice ended, Atsumu was pissed—more so than usual. The tension rolled off him in waves, his usual post-practice confidence completely overshadowed by the frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

Osamu, ever the observant twin, didn’t miss it.

As they left the gym, Osamu glanced over, catching the permanent scowl etched onto Atsumu. "What’s with your face?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, expecting the usual smart-ass response.

But Atsumu wasn’t even looking at him.

His gaze was locked ahead, fixated on you, watching as you took the keys from Kita, nodding as you prepared to lock up the gym. His jaw tightened, fingers curling into his bag strap.

"Don’t wait for me," he muttered, voice clipped.

Osamu blinked, looking between him and you—you, walking away, completely unbothered. And Atsumu? Absolutely bothered.

Osamu exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression shifting into something vaguely amused before he shrugged. "Alright…?" he said, but his voice held a knowing edge.

He didn’t need to say it out loud.

He had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen.

Atsumu stormed after you the moment Osamu walked away, his footsteps heavy, purposeful, his irritation practically radiating off him. You had just slipped into the supply closet, stacking away the last of the gear, when his gritted voice reached your ears from outside the gym.

"Are ya fuckin’ kidding me?!"

You couldn’t stop the smirk that pulled at your lips. Oh, he was livid.

Taking your time, you walked out of the closet, not bothering to acknowledge him right away. He stood at the entrance of the gym, chest rising and falling, his golden eyes sharp with anger, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was barely holding himself back.

"I’m talkin’ to you," he bit out as you stepped past him toward the doors.

Still, you said nothing.

You pulled the doors shut with a slow deliberation, the sound echoing through the empty gym, and locked them behind you. Then, finally, you turned, meeting his gaze.

Atsumu’s face was furious, his lips slightly parted as if he was trying to rein in everything he wanted to say. His hair was tousled from practice, damp at the edges, his skin flushed from exertion. The way his arms tensed, his stance rigid, the way his breathing came a little too sharp—all of it sent something thrumming hot in your stomach.

The heat only grew when you noticed the way his jaw ticked, his fingers flexing at his sides, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to shake you or pin you to the nearest wall.

You smiled. Sweet. Taunting. "Night. See you tomorrow."

You barely took two steps before his hand caught your wrist, yanking you back toward him. The movement sent you stumbling slightly, your body colliding with his, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs.

His voice was low, rough, his breath hot against your cheek. "You think I don't know your game?"

You arched a brow, playing it off as coolly as possible, though instinctively, your spine straightened, your back arching slightly, pushing your chest forward. You hated how your body reacted to him, the heat swirling deep in your stomach, and for a split second, the thought flickered through your mind—why am I so turned on by this?

"What game?" you said, your voice smooth, controlled. "I told you I wasn’t free tonight."

Atsumu let out a sharp scoff, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to make you hyperaware of how strong his hands were. "Bullshit. You’re pissed at me for flirtin’ with that girl."

Your jaw locked, your teeth clenching. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting, so instead, you blinked up at him, expression unreadable, and said, "Are you going to let me go?"

Atsumu didn’t flinch. If anything, his hold shifted, his other hand coming to rest against your waist, fingers digging in just enough to pull you flush against him.

"Do you want me to?" His voice dropped, dark and teasing, and before you could snap back, you felt it—the hard press of his arousal against your stomach.

You gasped, a sharp inhale betraying the last shred of control you had. Fuck.

Atsumu smirked, catching the way your lashes fluttered, the way your body momentarily tensed before you steadied yourself, fighting the reaction. But it was too late—he felt the shift.

Without another word, you glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear before grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the back of the building.

"Take your pants off," you ordered, voice tight, breathless, already unraveling.

Atsumu didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers worked quickly at his belt, the sharp clink of metal and the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet night. You turned, pressing your palms flat against the rough brick wall, heart hammering against your ribs. Your breath came in uneven bursts, every inhale feeling too shallow, too hot. His body heat was suddenly right there, an overwhelming presence against your back, making your skin prickle with anticipation.

His hands found your hips, large and possessive, squeezing once before slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your thighs. With one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and dragged them down, the night air rushing against your exposed skin, sending a sharp shiver up your spine. The contrast between the cold air and the heat pooling between your legs made you suck in a sharp breath, pressing your forehead against the brick, trying to steady yourself.

"You thought I was gonna fuck that other girl?" His voice was a low growl against your ear, hot, dangerous, all-consuming. "This pussy is mine. Mine alone. You're mine."

Your breath hitched. A spark of indignation flared in your chest, instinct demanding you push back, to scoff, to tell him to fuck off—

But then he was pushing inside.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your body jolting forward, hands splaying against the wall as he filled you slowly, deeply, completely. Your nails scraped against the brick, legs trembling as you adjusted to the overwhelming stretch. The sensation was too much, his cock pulsing inside you, pushing against that perfect spot that sent white-hot pleasure sparking through your veins.

Fuck.

Atsumu let out a low, guttural groan, one hand wrapping tightly around your waist while the other braced against the wall beside your head. He was breathing hard, his forehead nearly pressing against your shoulder, like he was barely holding himself together. His fingers flexed against your waist before gripping tighter, his hips pulling back only to slam forward again, forcing another cry from your lips.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice rough, unsteady, his pace already picking up. "Ain't nobody gonna fuck you like this. Ain't nobody gonna make you feel this good."

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out except a strangled moan. His hands were everywhere—gripping, branding, making sure you felt him in every possible way. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed into the night, mingling with your breathless gasps and his sharp groans.

He set a brutal rhythm, pounding into you with a desperation that left no room for thought. Every thrust sent you higher, pleasure knotting too quickly, your body already struggling to hold itself together. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you back against him, making you take all of him, forcing you to feel just how much he was losing himself in this.

"Shit—" he groaned, his voice nearly breaking. "You fuckin' love this, don’t ya?"

His hand slid down, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing tight, punishing circles that had you whimpering, your body jerking forward from the intensity. Your hands clawed at the brick wall, nails scraping against the rough surface as heat coiled in your core, winding impossibly tight.

"There—right there—fuck, don’t stop," you gasped, voice ragged and desperate, each word punctuated by his relentless pace. Your legs trembled beneath you, your entire body taut with anticipation, every nerve on fire.

Atsumu groaned, low and guttural, his hips snapping forward harder, sharper. "Yeah? That’s the spot?" His grip on your hip tightened, holding you in place, refusing to let you squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. "Feels so fuckin’ good takin’ me like this."

Your head dropped forward, eyes squeezing shut as your body burned under his touch. Every thrust, every flick of his fingers, sent you spiraling closer to the edge. The pressure in your stomach coiled tighter, tighter, until you were gasping, eyes rolling back.

"Tsumu—I’m—" You barely got the words out before your body seized up, pleasure detonating inside you, shattering through every nerve. A sharp cry ripped from your throat, your walls clenching tight around him, milking every inch as your climax ripped through you.

Atsumu cursed sharply, his thrusts stuttering, becoming frantic and sloppy as he chased his own high. His grip on you tightened, his pace desperate, his breath coming in uneven groans until finally—

He buried himself to the hilt, his entire body shuddering as he spilled inside you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, muffling the wrecked moan that ripped from his throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies pressed together, trembling, still trying to come down from the high. Your own breathing was ragged, your forehead pressed to the wall, your legs barely holding you up. His grip on your hips slackened slightly, but he didn’t pull away—instead, he leaned into you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, his lips brushing the back of your neck as if he was too lost in the aftershocks to fully regain himself.

And then—

Reality hit.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath still ragged, heart still hammering in your chest. But something was wrong.

A sudden wave of realization crashed over you as you felt the sticky warmth between your legs. Your stomach dropped.

"You came inside me, asshole!" you blurted, twisting your head to glare at him over your shoulder.

Atsumu was still holding onto you, his forehead resting lazily against your back, his grip loose but unwilling to let you go. His chest rose and fell in heavy, sated breaths, completely lost in his own bliss.

It took him a second to even register your words. When he finally did, all he managed was a dazed, "Huh?"

You groaned, your forehead knocking lightly against the brick. "I swear to god—" You sucked in a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. "You're buying me Plan B."

Atsumu, still catching his breath, let out a low, breathy chuckle, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "Babe, I'll buy ya anything ya want if ya let me do that again."

You sighed, exasperated, exhausted, and somehow still too weak in the knees to shove him off you properly. His hands lingered on your hips for a moment longer before finally releasing you, but even as you adjusted your skirt and tried to gather yourself, you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

You refused to acknowledge the way your body still thrummed with heat, the way your legs still trembled, the way your pulse still jumped every time he spoke. Instead, you turned, fixing him with a glare.

"You’re taking me to the pharmacy.”

Atsumu grinned, looking way too pleased with himself. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya say, sweetheart."

Rivalry: Atsumu Pt. 5

The sharp clang of the school bell signaled the end of class, jolting you out of your thoughts. You blinked, realizing you had barely absorbed a single word of the lecture. Your fingers mindlessly traced the spine of your textbook as students shuffled around you, chairs scraping against the floor, the din of conversation rising as everyone spilled into the hallway for lunch.

Your body moved on autopilot, gathering your belongings and slipping into the throng of students, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. The past few days had been a blur, a tangled mess of secrets, frustration, and moments you couldn’t quite categorize. Your lips tingled at the memory of his mouth on them, your skin still seemed to burn where he had touched you, and no matter how much you tried to shake it, you felt restless.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed when you stepped into the cafeteria—

Until a loud, unmistakable voice cut through the noise like a whip.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

You barely had time to process before Hana Yoshida came barreling toward you, her long dark hair swaying dramatically behind her, eyes narrowed with accusation and concern.

You winced. Shit.

"You have been straight-up ghosting me, and I swear to god if you say it's because of some stupid schoolwork, I will lose my mind."

Her hands found her hips as she planted herself in front of you, blocking your path with the kind of intensity only Hana could manage. She was radiating energy, a force of nature wrapped in an oversized school sweater and a skirt she had definitely rolled up against dress code.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she immediately cut you off, her sharp brown eyes narrowing further. "No. Don’t even try to make an excuse, because I know you. And I know when you’re hiding something."

You shifted uncomfortably, your hands gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. "I—uh—"

"Yeah, uh-uh, my ass." Hana scoffed, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward your usual lunch spot with zero room for argument. "Spill. Now. Before I start making up my own theories, and trust me, you won't like them."

You swallowed hard.

"I've just been busy," you tried weakly, avoiding her piercing gaze. "You know, school, club activities, the usual."

Hana’s eyes narrowed even further as she leaned in closer, scanning your face with an almost predatory level of scrutiny. And then, as if something suddenly clicked, her jaw dropped.

She gasped so loudly that a few students actually turned their heads in curiosity. Then, without missing a beat, she pointed an accusatory finger directly at your chest.

"Oh. My. God. You’ve been having sex!"

Your stomach plummeted.

Panic shot through you at lightning speed, your hand flying up to clasp over her mouth before she could blurt out another humiliating declaration for the entire cafeteria to hear.

"Shut up!" you hissed, your face heating up so fast you thought you might combust on the spot. "Would you keep your voice down?!"

Hana’s muffled laugh vibrated against your palm before she wrenched your hand away, eyes practically sparkling with glee. "Oh, I knew it! I knew something was up! And judging by how flustered you are, I’m right!"

She smirked, leaning in even closer, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "You look so mellow and relaxed lately. And honestly? You’re glowing. Whoever is dicking you down is doing a great job."

Your face erupted in flames. "Will you just shut up?!" you hissed, mortified beyond belief, your eyes darting around to make sure no one else had overheard.

Hana only grinned wider, clearly having the time of her life. "Oh, I am so not shutting up. I need details."

You stuttered, scrambling for a way out of this conversation. "T-there's nothing to say. It was just a fling," you lied through your teeth, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.

Hana's eyes narrowed like a predator locking onto its prey. "Oh, sure. Just a fling? You, Miss ‘I Don’t Do Hookups’? You expect me to believe that?"

Before she could press you further, a loud voice cut through the cafeteria noise, pulling you from Hana’s relentless interrogation.

"Hey, manager!"

You turned, internally sighing in relief, as Osamu, Atsumu, Aran, Suna, and Hitoshi made their way toward you. The group moved with familiar ease, their casual bickering bleeding into the air like background static. Even before they reached your table, you could tell they were in the middle of one of their stupid arguments.

"God, you guys can’t leave me alone, huh?" you teased, forcing yourself to sound as normal as possible while shifting slightly in your seat. You could still feel Hana's gaze boring into the side of your head, but for now, she was momentarily distracted.

Hana huffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, you guys get her before and after school. Can't I reserve her for lunch?"

"Don't worry, we only need her for a quick second," Suna added with a smirk, earning a roll of your eyes.

"We got a serious debate," Hitoshi declared, arms crossed, his expression dead serious. "Would you rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?"

Osamu sighed, shaking his head. "A hundred duck-sized horses, obviously. A horse-sized duck would be terrifying."

Suna scoffed. "Nah, you’re thinking too hard about it. A horse-sized duck would have hollow bones. It wouldn’t even be that strong."

You blinked, deadpan. "That’s what you’re arguing about?"

Atsumu grinned, leaning forward, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "C’mon, we need a tie-breaker."

You rolled your eyes, already feeling the familiar urge to snark back. "Knowing you, Miya, you’d lose to both."

Atsumu’s smug expression instantly dropped, replaced with mock offense. "Excuse me? I’d destroy that oversized poultry."

"Doubt it," you shot back. "You’d probably trip over your own ego before you could throw the first punch."

Atsumu’s golden eyes gleamed with challenge, his smirk widening as if he was ready to throw another quip your way. He leaned in slightly, opening his mouth—

"Oh, sweetheart, you really gotta work on your comebacks. That one barely stung."

"Oh, up yours, you insufferable—" you began with a sweet smile, voice dripping with venom, but before you could finish, Aran cut in with a sigh. "Okay, okay, let’s get food before this turns into another screaming match."

You raised your hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm the one with self-control."

Atsumu shot you a glare, clearly not amused, his mouth opening to retort, but you only grinned wider. "That being said—a horse-sized duck."

Half the boys erupted into a small but silent victory celebration, their smug grins a stark contrast to the ones rolling their eyes in annoyance. With that, the group turned and began heading toward the lunch line, still bickering about the logistics of fighting oversized poultry.

Atsumu threw you one last smirk, his golden eyes flashing with something too smug, too knowing, before turning on his heel to follow the rest of the team.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but there was something in that fleeting glance—a silent challenge, a lingering amusement, a spark of something neither of you wanted to name. Your stomach twisted at the way his smirk lingered even as he walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the lunch crowd.

You barely had time to process it before Hana's nails dug into your arm with newfound intensity.

"Oh. My. God. Miya Atsumu?!"

Your stomach dropped, the cafeteria suddenly feeling too bright, too loud, every sound around you fading into a dull hum compared to the sheer horror of what had just left Hana’s mouth.

Hana’s voice was barely a whisper, but the absolute horror and uncontainable glee in her tone made your face burn hotter than the sun, the heat creeping up your neck and settling into your ears.

"What?! You are out of your mind—" you sputtered, words tumbling out before you could even think of a solid defense. Your hands instinctively gripped the edge of the table, like you needed something to ground yourself before you keeled over in embarrassment.

But Hana just grinned, completely unfazed, watching you with a predatory kind of giddiness, like she had just unearthed the juiciest gossip of the century.

"I mean, it makes sense," she continued, tapping her chin as if she were solving a grand mystery, her eyes dancing with amusement. "He’s stupid pretty, and you both hate each other’s guts."

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, to tell her she had completely lost her mind, but then—

Hana’s expression shifted.

As if a switch flipped.

Her eyes widened, her breath caught, and then—

She gasped, loud and dramatic, clutching your arm so tightly you thought she might dislocate your shoulder.

"You’ve been having hate sex and didn’t tell me?!"

You winced, her words cutting through the already overwhelming noise of the cafeteria, but to you, they felt magnified, exposed, like she had just put you on trial in the middle of lunch hour.

A groan ripped from your throat, your hand dragging down your face as if you could physically wipe this moment from existence.

"Goddamn it, can you stop being so perceptive?" you gritted out, your voice half a plea, half a curse, the mortification settling deep in your bones.

Hana, however, looked delighted, her grin only stretching wider, eating up your suffering like it was the most entertaining thing she’d ever witnessed.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, your head dropping onto the desk with a resigned sigh.

"What do you want to know?" you mumbled, knowing full well you had just opened the floodgates to hell.

--

You told her everything—from the late-night encounters to the insults exchanged between breathless moans, the ridiculous tension that neither of you acknowledged in daylight, the way he was just so frustrating even when he wasn’t talking. Every stupid detail, every infuriating moment, all of it. The way his smirk made your skin prickle with annoyance, how his hands always seemed to leave behind an unbearable heat, the way he had this infuriating ability to push every single one of your buttons. And yet, somehow, you kept going back. Again and again.

By the time you finished, Hana was just staring at you, blinking slowly, like she needed a moment to actually process the sheer absurdity of the situation you had just described. Then, she leaned back, exhaled slowly, and with the most deadpan expression, simply said:

"Wow. I'm so jealous."

A snort escaped you before you could stop it, your body tensing and relaxing all at once. "Only you would be jealous of this kind of situation."

Hana shrugged, her lips pulling into a lazy, knowing grin. "I mean, what’s not to like? The sex is good, he’s not bad to look at—"

"I hate his guts," you cut in, scowling, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table. There was no way in hell you were letting her finish that sentence.

Hana just stopped, her eyes scanning your face with undisguised skepticism, her head tilting slightly like you had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

"Right." She dragged the word out, voice drenched in disbelief, as if she was humoring a child who just declared they didn’t like sugar.

Your teeth clenched, frustration flaring hot in your chest. "I’m serious, Hana. I can’t stand him."

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk only growing, clearly unimpressed. "But you can stand him inside you."

Your mouth fell open in horror, your entire body locking up before you slapped her shoulder—hard enough to make her burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh my god, shut up!" you hissed, your face burning.

Hana just grinned, completely unrepentant, rubbing her arm with mock injury. "I’m just saying. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a thing for him."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Absolutely not. I could never see myself with him. It’s just physical. That’s it."

"Mmhmm," Hana hummed, tapping her chin dramatically, like she was filing away her own private analysis of your situation. Then, after a few seconds, she tilted her head, as if casually remembering something.

"Then you shouldn’t care that Ayumi Tanaka is planning on asking him out."

Your entire body tensed before your head snapped toward her so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"What?" you blurted out, voice sharper than you intended.

Hana blinked, her lips quirking as if she knew exactly what she was doing. "Oh, yeah. She was talking about it in the locker room the other day. Said she’s been into him for a while and figured she’d shoot her shot."

Your jaw locked, a strange heat curling in your chest. "And… he said what?"

Hana shrugged. "Dunno. She hasn’t asked him yet. But she was pretty confident."

You hated the way your stomach twisted at that. Absolutely despised it. Because it shouldn’t matter. It really, really shouldn’t. This thing with Atsumu? It wasn’t real—just something to get out of both your systems. That’s it. That was the agreement. And yet, the thought of him with someone else, letting someone else touch him, whisper things into his ear, run their hands over his skin—

No. Absolutely not.

Wait. Why do I care?

Hana leaned forward, watching your expression with obvious amusement. "Oh, wow. You hate him so much, yet here you are, looking like you just swallowed a lemon."

You tore your gaze away, forcing yourself to breathe. "I don’t care."

Hana smirked. "Right. Totally buying that."

Before you could snap back, the sharp ring of the school bell split the air, signaling the end of lunch. You shot up from your seat so fast it nearly knocked your tray over.

"Oh wow, the bell! Gotta go!" you rushed out, grabbing your bag and making a beeline for the exit like your life depended on it.

Hana, still seated, only crossed her arms, watching you flee with an exasperated shake of her head. "This isn’t over!" she called after you, her voice carrying over the cafeteria noise.

You barely heard her as you pushed through the hallway, her words still rattling in your head. Your stomach twisted as you replayed the conversation, the image of Atsumu with someone else digging its claws into your brain like an itch you couldn't scratch. The idea of another girl sliding her hands over his skin, pulling those same groans from his throat, whispering in his ear—it sent a fresh, unwanted wave of irritation crawling through your veins.

You trudged down the hallway, weaving through the clusters of students lingering outside their classrooms, your mind still clouded with the lingering conversation you had barely escaped from. Hana’s words played on a loop in your head, irritating and persistent, no matter how much you tried to shake them off.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Pregnancy: Atsumu

You’re two months pregnant and absolutely glowing. There’s a nervous excitement in your every breath, your hand constantly drifting over your still-flat belly as if to check that it’s real. That there’s really a little life growing inside you. A little Miya, curled up and getting bigger by the day.

You’re in the passenger seat of the car, heading toward your very first ultrasound appointment. The windows are down, and the soft spring breeze is curling through your hair as the late morning sun streams through the windshield. Everything feels light. Hopeful. Surreal.

Atsumu is driving one-handed, his other resting on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles against your leggings. He hums quietly to the radio, lips twitching into a smile every time he glances over at you.

“Y’know,” he says after a moment, “I been thinkin’ about what kind of nose they’ll have. Hopefully yours. Mine’s too pointy.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that bubbles up without effort. “As long as they don’t have your drama.”

“Hey!” he protests, though he’s still smiling as he squeezes your leg. “They’re allowed a little flair. They are mine, after all.”

You roll your eyes fondly, fingers tangling with his at the next red light. He lifts your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles before driving on.

When you pull into the clinic parking lot, your nerves start to set in—low and creeping. It’s your first time seeing the baby. Hearing a heartbeat. It makes everything feel suddenly, painfully real.

The waiting room is quiet, with soft instrumental music playing and the smell of hand sanitizer hanging in the air. You’re seated beside Atsumu, your knees bouncing ever so slightly as your mind races ahead. His hand is still in yours, firm and grounding.

When the nurse finally calls your name, you squeeze his fingers a little tighter.

The exam room is dimly lit, calm, with a monitor beside the table and soft instructions given as you lie back. You wince slightly at the cold gel, heart pounding in your ears as the technician glides the wand over your stomach.

She squints at the screen. Tilts her head.

Then her eyes widen slightly.

“Oh.”

You stiffen. “What? What is it? Is something wrong?”

She’s quick to reassure you. “No, no—everything looks good. It’s just... you’re having twins.”

Silence.

Atsumu leans in closer, eyes squinting at the screen. “Twins?”

“Twins,” the technician repeats, pointing to two distinct little shapes. “You see here? Two sacs. Two heartbeats.”

Your gaze locks onto the screen. Two. Not one. Not the tiny flutter you’d been preparing for, but two.

A sudden wave of panic crashes over you.

“Two?” you echo, your voice a shaky whisper. “Like... two babies? At the same time?”

The technician gently clears her throat. "Well, it’s a little early to know for sure if they’re fraternal or identical, but yes—twins."

You feel your breath hitch, the room growing smaller around you. “That’s two car seats. Two cribs. Two births. Two newborns crying at once—”

Your hand grips Atsumu’s forearm, eyes wide as your mind races. “I don’t—I wasn’t ready for two. I barely wrapped my head around one.”

You’re still staring at the screen when Atsumu shifts closer to the bed, his hand still resting lightly on yours.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Breathe for me, okay?”

You turn toward him with wide, overwhelmed eyes. “Tsumu... that’s two babies. That’s two of everything. What if I can’t—what if I’m not enough for both of them?”

“You are,” he says instantly, without hesitation. “You will be. We will.”

But your hand flails toward his forearm like it needs something to latch onto. “This is your fault. You and Osamu. You cursed me with twin genes!”

He stares at you, stunned. “What?! How is this my fault?”

“Because you’re a twin! That’s how!”

The technician offers a gentle smile, still watching the monitor. “Actually, twins are likely influenced by the mother’s genetics. So if anyone ‘passed it down,’ it’s likely you.”

You blink slowly. “So... it’s me?”

Atsumu exhales—relieved. “See? I didn’t do this! You doubled down on your own.”

Your head snaps toward the technician, eyes wide and blinking rapidly, a storm of disbelief swirling behind them. You don’t say anything—but your look says plenty.

The technician catches the expression immediately and offers a placating smile, lifting her hands lightly. "I’ll give you two a minute," she says gently, already stepping toward the door, and quietly slips out of the room, pulling it closed behind her with a soft click.

You drop your head back onto the exam pillow with a muffled groan. “I don’t know how to do one baby. Let alone two. That’s double the crying. Double the diapers. Double the college funds.”

Atsumu leans down until his forehead presses softly to yours. His hand finds yours again, grounding you with the warmth of his palm and the way his thumb strokes soothingly across your skin.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and gentle. “Breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

You don’t answer right away, eyes still locked on the monitor where two flickering heartbeats pulse in rhythm.

He kisses your forehead, slow and reassuring. “We’ll go one diaper at a time. One bottle at a time. One late-night rocking session at a time. We’re gonna be okay.”

Your lip trembles. “Are we?”

He smiles, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I’m not lettin’ you do this alone. You’re stuck with me, baby. Me, and the two little monsters we made.”

You laugh wetly, a mix of shock and affection tangled in your chest. He leans down and kisses you again—cheek, then jaw, then temple—before turning to look back at the screen.

And in the glow of that monitor, with two tiny heartbeats tapping out the rhythm of your future, Atsumu squeezes your hand and whispers:

“They’ve already got the best mom in the world. The rest’ll be easy.”

You sit up slightly and reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug, your chin resting against his shoulder. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “I needed to hear that.”

Rivalry: Atsumu Pt. 4 (NSFW)

Two months had passed, and despite every rational part of you screaming that this was a terrible idea, you had found yourself tangled up in a routine that made it impossible to stop.

Atsumu had become a habit—one that was filthy, consuming, and utterly reckless. The secrecy of it all only made it worse. Late nights, locked doors, hushed whispers, and rough hands in dark rooms. You hated him. He pissed you off. And yet, here you were, again, back in his bed, completely at his mercy.

Your thighs trembled, muscles tight with anticipation as you gripped the sheets, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as his mouth worked you open. Wet, hot, relentless.

"Fuck, Tsumu—" your voice broke as his tongue flicked over your clit, teasing, taunting, making you feel like you were unraveling at the seams. Your fingers tangled into his messy blonde hair, pulling him closer, but the bastard hardly needed the encouragement.

He was devouring you.

He hummed against you, sending a delicious shiver through your core. Atsumu lived for this—for the way you twisted beneath him, for the way you couldn't stop yourself from falling apart in his mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened, spreading you wider, giving him full access to ruin you.

"Missed me, huh?" he murmured between slow, deliberate strokes, his voice thick with amusement.

You wanted to smack that smugness off of him, to snap back with something sharp and cutting, but when his tongue pushed inside, any semblance of thought vanished.

"Oh, fuck—"

His chuckle was dark, pleased, vibrating against your sensitive skin. "That's it."

You should have kicked him in the face. Should have. But all you could do was arch, pressing yourself closer, giving in to the intensity, letting him take whatever he wanted—because fuck, you wanted it too.

The pleasure built fast, coiling tight in your stomach, every nerve burning with overstimulation. He knew exactly what he was doing, and worse, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed keeping you on edge. Enjoyed the messy, breathless moans spilling from your lips, the helpless way you moved against him.

Atsumu was playing you like a damn game, and he was winning.

"Tsumu—" you gasped, back bowing off the mattress, hands fisting into the sheets. Your thighs shook, dangerously close to clamping around his head, but he wouldn’t let you—his grip was iron.

"Let go," he murmured, his voice rough with hunger, his tongue swirling slow and deep, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking.

And that was it.

The tension snapped.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as you shattered, pleasure crashing over you in hot, violent waves. Blinding, overwhelming, too much. Your body locked up, then trembled, your release hitting you so hard you nearly saw stars.

Atsumu groaned against you, his fingers digging into your hips as he licked you through it, his tongue still fucking teasing, dragging out every aftershock until you were whimpering, too sensitive to bear it.

Your body felt like liquid, your limbs useless, your mind still floating in the aftermath when the bed shifted. Through half-lidded, hazy eyes, you watched as Atsumu sat up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, golden eyes dark, hooded with satisfaction.

He was so fucking pleased with himself.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction as he reached for the condom on the nightstand, rolling it on with practiced ease. "Ya look so good when ya come."

You barely had time to glare at him before—

The front door swung open.

Your entire body froze.

"Oi, 'Tsumu! You home?"

Fucking Osamu.

Atsumu cursed, already moving, his reflexes sharp as hell as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you off the bed. Your half-fogged brain barely caught up before you were being shoved toward the only hiding place available—

Under his damn bed.

You scrambled beneath it just as Osamu’s footsteps approached the room, your skin still burning, every nerve still buzzing from your orgasm. Still fucking naked.

And worse? It was disgusting under here.

A layer of dust clung to the floor, a few stray socks shoved against the far wall—probably unwashed—and your stomach turned when your elbow knocked into a bottle of lotion next to what was clearly a magazine filled with dirty pictures.

Oh, my god.

Your jaw clenched in horrified realization, but there was no time to react because above you, Atsumu was scrambling.

You heard the distinct sound of fabric being yanked as he snatched the nearest shirt off the floor, shoving it over his head in record time. The bedsprings groaned as he moved, no doubt trying to cover his raging hard-on with a blanket before his brother walked in.

"Yeah, I'm here. What d'ya want?" Atsumu called, his voice just barely holding its usual casual edge.

From your position on the goddamn floor, your heart hammered, breath caught in your throat.

This was a fucking disaster.

Osamu stepped inside, his gaze immediately narrowing in suspicion as he took in the sight of Atsumu sitting stiffly on the bed, a blanket haphazardly draped over his lap, hair ruffled, and his shirt clearly thrown on in a panic.

"What are you doing?" Osamu asked, crossing his arms, his tone carrying the weight of deep skepticism.

Atsumu floundered for a response. "Uh—just—nappin’."

Osamu raised a brow, his eyes flickering to the blanket, the slight tension in Atsumu’s posture, the way his twin wouldn’t meet his gaze. Slowly, a look of realization—followed by deep, profound disgust—settled over his face.

"Oh, gross." Osamu took a step back like he’d been personally offended. "The bathroom exists for a reason, ya know."

Atsumu’s eyes widened in horror. "What? No! That’s not—"

"Dude, I don’t wanna know!" Osamu cut him off, throwing up a hand. "I walked in on ya once when we were kids and I still haven’t recovered. I ain’t doing this again."

Atsumu groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I wasn’t jackin’ off, dumbass!"

Osamu, looking entirely unconvinced, took another step toward the door. "Hey, look, I don’t care what ya do in here—just let me know when you’re done and I’ll come back." His lip curled in mild disgust before he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

The front door clicked closed a moment later, signaling that Osamu had left the house.

Silence.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding before crawling out from under the bed, glaring at Atsumu as you brushed dust and questionable particles off your skin.

"That," you said, voice flat, "was humiliating. And disgusting. Can you vacuum under your bed once in a while? I think I inhaled ten years' worth of filth."

You plucked a lint ball from your hair in disgust, shaking it off your fingers as Atsumu flopped dramatically onto the mattress with a groan.

"Not my fault ya had to go crawlin’ under there," he shot back, smirking despite himself. "Bet ya got real acquainted with my side of the world, huh?"

You scowled. "I got real acquainted with the fact that you're a goddamn slob."

Atsumu scoffed, propping himself up on his elbows. "Ya got outta there alive, didn’t ya? No harm done."

You folded your arms, leveling him with a hard stare. "Listen, that was way too close. We need to be more careful."

Atsumu hummed, tapping his fingers against his stomach in thought before flashing that infuriating smirk. "We could always get a motel."

You snorted, shaking your head. "And be seen in public with you? Not a chance."

Atsumu laughed, but there was something too satisfied in the way he looked at you, eyes dark and knowing. "Talkin’ a lotta shit for someone who just came on my tongue, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched, heat crawling up your neck at the way he said it, like he was ready for another round.

And judging by the way his gaze dropped to your still-naked body, he was.

Atsumu sat up, moving toward you, fingers skimming over your thigh, his intent crystal clear. "C'mon, we still got time."

You caught his wrist before he could get any further, leveling him with a pointed glare. "No. I need to shower."

His smirk deepened. "You need an extra set of hands?"

"I'd rather stick forks in my eyes."

Atsumu laughed as you stormed off toward the bathroom, ignoring the heat lingering in your stomach, ignoring the fact that a tiny, stupid part of you was tempted.

The moment you shut the door behind you, you exhaled sharply, bracing yourself against the sink as you stared at your reflection. Your face was still flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, and your neck—God, your neck—was littered with faint marks that were dangerously close to being noticeable. Scowling, you turned away, peeling off the remnants of the night before and stepping into the shower.

The warm water was a relief, soothing your aching muscles, washing away the sweat, the scent of Atsumu, the overwhelming reminder of what had just happened. But no matter how much soap you scrubbed into your skin, you couldn’t erase the feeling of him—his hands gripping your hips, his mouth on you, the way he had looked at you like he knew he’d ruined you.

You groaned, pressing your forehead against the tiled wall. What the hell were you doing?

This was supposed to be a one-time thing. A mistake that you could brush off, pretend it never happened. But instead, it had become a habit, a reckless, intoxicating cycle that neither of you seemed willing to break.

By the time you stepped out, towel-drying your hair, you dressed quickly, shoving your clothes on with every intention of getting the hell out of there before anything else happened.

You cracked open the door, listening for any signs of Osamu’s return, but the house was quiet. Atsumu was probably still in his room, lounging around like he hadn’t just forced you into a near-death situation under his bed.

With careful steps, you grabbed your bag and slipped out of his house, the cool night air hitting your skin as you finally felt like you could breathe.

That was, until you ran right into Osamu, nearly sending a bag of gas station snacks flying from his hands.

He looked like he had been killing time, dressed casually in a hoodie and sweats, the plastic bag in his grasp rustling as a bottle of tea and a pack of chips shifted inside. His hair was slightly mussed from the evening air, his expression easygoing at first, clearly not expecting to bump into you.

"Oh, hey," he greeted, his tone friendly, his expression relaxed at first. "Didn’t expect to see ya ‘round here."

You cursed internally, forcing a casual smile. "Yeah! Uh—just had some errands to run."

Osamu tilted his head slightly. "Errands? Thought ya lived on the other end of town."

Your brain scrambled for an answer, anything that wasn’t oh, just fucking your brother senseless and then hiding under his bed like a cockroach.

"Uh—dentist appointment."

Osamu blinked. Once. Twice.

"At this time?"

You hesitated, painfully aware that it was nine at night, and absolutely no sane dentist operated at this hour. "Yeah, my dentist is a night owl," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrows pulled together, his expression shifting from friendly curiosity to mild confusion. "...A night owl. Right."

You could feel the weight of his slowly dawning suspicion as he took another look at you—at the way you were a little too quick to answer, at how your shirt looked slightly ruffled, at the fact that you were clearly in a rush to leave.

Abort. Abort. Abort.

Before he could press you for details that would only dig you deeper into this stupid-ass lie, you rushed out, "What about you? What are you doing out here?"

Osamu sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Just gettin’ some air. My brother's bein' gross. Well… you would know."

Your entire body seized up, but you forced a light, slightly awkward laugh, as if that wasn’t the most terrifying statement you’d heard all day. "Ha. Yeah."

The silence that followed was excruciating, stretching far too long as Osamu watched you, his gaze weighing heavier by the second. He wasn’t stupid. The Miya twins might have been frustrating, but they weren’t clueless. He was piecing things together, connecting dots that you desperately needed to keep apart.

Time to go.

"Okay, bye! See you at practice!" you said a little too quickly, spinning on your heel and scurrying away before he could say anything else.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you walked, resisting the urge to sprint as you put as much distance between yourself and Osamu as possible.

As soon as you were far enough, you yanked your phone out of your pocket, typing out a single text to Atsumu:

Find a motel.

Helloooo another request because I absolutely love your Favourite position series! Can you write one about Atsumu because you write him so well. Not just him honestly all the characters you write are so accurate and well written. Take your time and thank your for blessing us with your writing!!🩷🩷

Heheh I've had this one cooking for a long time. Thank you for saying I write him well that makes my day since he's like my husband 😩🩷

Enjoy <333

--

Favourite Positions: Atsumu

Atsumu Miya was a performer.

On the court, in front of a camera, with strangers or friends—he knew how to put on a show. He thrived on reaction, on praise, on the high that came from being watched and admired. And in bed, it was no different.

He liked it when you were loud.

When you praised him with gasps and whimpers, when your nails dragged down his back and your voice cracked saying his name. When your legs trembled, when your thighs clenched, when you said—again and again—that no one made you feel like he did.

But one night, in the quiet hush of your shared bedroom, you laughed—soft, teasing—and said something he couldn’t let go.

“You’re good, Tsumu,” you purred, voice sugary sweet, brushing your lips against his ear. “But I don’t think you’ve ever made me scream.”

He went still. Blinked once. And then he smiled.

Not just any smile. That one. The cocky, infuriating, competitive smile he only wore when he took something personally.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” he asked, voice deceptively light.

You shrugged, smirking. “I’m just saying…”

And that was how you found yourself like this.

Laid on your side, one leg lifted and draped over his shoulder, the other pinned beneath his weight. His hand was anchored under your knee, firm and steady, keeping you stretched open for him, keeping you exposed and exactly where he wanted you.

He was already deep inside you, hips grinding in slow, devastating strokes that had your breath stuttering and your mind unraveling. The angle? Perfect. He hit that spot—your spot—over and over, like he had it memorized, like he could find it with his eyes closed.

But what got you most—more than the rhythm, more than the stretch—was the way he watched you.

Eyes locked on your face. Focused. Determined.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t playful. He was proving something.

“Y’re not gonna be able to talk when I’m done,” he muttered, voice thick with effort, lips brushing against your jaw. “Gonna make you scream so loud, the whole fuckin’ neighborhood’s gonna know.”

You gasped, your hand flailing to grip the sheets as his cock hit that spot again, again, again. Every thrust angled perfectly, timed like he was syncing it to the beat of your pulse, to the rhythm of your gasps.

Your voice cracked. “T-Tsumu—”

“Oh, now y’can’t talk?” he chuckled, dark and pleased, hand dragging down to press your belly. “Thought y’had somethin’ smart to say.”

Your leg trembled on his shoulder. Your body jolted, overwhelmed by the way he kept striking that same devastating spot inside you. It was blinding—white-hot heat coiling tighter and tighter, an ache that started deep in your belly and spread like fire under your skin. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, your muscles drawn so tight you thought you might snap. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

The only thing you could feel was him—Atsumu, filling you completely, dragging you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. Your walls fluttered around him, desperate and pulsing, your vision starting to blur at the edges. Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes, pleasure cresting into something dizzying, something raw.

And still, he didn’t let up.

His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with more force, each movement sending a shockwave through your body. The pressure was unbearable, unbearable—and yet, you craved more. You needed more. Your hands clawed uselessly at the bedspread, searching for something, anything, to hold onto.

“Say it,” he growled, voice right by your ear now, his breath hot, cock still driving into you at that perfect, devastating angle. “Say who’s makin’ you scream.”

You barely managed it.

“Atsumu—oh my god, Atsumu—”

You shattered.

Your cry echoed off the walls, louder than you’d ever been before. It ripped from your chest, raw and helpless, your entire body locking up. Back arched, fingers clawing at the sheets, thighs quivering violently as your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Raw. Messy. Loud. It didn’t stop—wave after wave crashing through your limbs, pulsing around him with a force that left you sobbing.

Atsumu groaned, curse muffled into your neck as he fucked you through it, hips stuttering before he came hard, hot and deep inside you, his own orgasm pulled from him with a strangled moan. He rode out every last pulse of it, buried deep, clinging to your thigh like his anchor.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, your leg still draped over his shoulder, chest heaving against the back of your thigh, his hand still gripping you like he didn’t want to let go. His face nuzzled into the curve of your chest, lips ghosting over the swell of your breast as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses there—gentle and slow, a quiet contrast to the way he’d just wrecked you.

When he finally leaned back to look at you, his smile was smug, but his eyes were warm—staring down at the wrecked mess he made.

“Still think I can’t make you scream?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were too far gone—eyelids fluttering, mouth parted, body twitching with the aftershocks.

And as he looked down at the wrecked mess of you—eyes glassy, hair clinging to your forehead, body limp and trembling—Atsumu realized something.

This position?

Yeah. It was his favorite now.

Rivalry: Atsumu Pt. 3

The morning sunlight streamed through the cracked window, golden rays spilling over the tangled mess of sheets and the scattered remnants of the night before. Outside, birds chirped in the early quiet, their songs a stark contrast to the utter wreckage inside the room.

You groaned as consciousness pulled you from the depths of exhaustion, a dull, persistent ache spreading through your body. Every muscle protested as you attempted to move, soreness radiating from the very core of you. Fucking hell.

Shifting slightly, you became aware of the steady rise and fall of someone else's breathing beside you. Your gaze flickered to your left, and sure enough—Atsumu Miya, sprawled out, snoring like a chainsaw, one arm flung over his head, the other lazily draped across your waist.

That smug bastard.

You blinked, your brain still foggy, your limbs still heavy with exhaustion, and then—

Oh. Right.

Your eyes darted around your bedroom, the aftermath of last night coming into focus. Condom wrappers littered the floor, some torn open in haste, others carelessly discarded. Tied-off condoms rested in evidence of just how many times you had let him ruin you. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat, sex, and something undeniably Atsumu.

You clenched your jaw. You let this happen. Multiple times.

Your body throbbed in agreement. Yeah. No shit.

Gritting your teeth, you slowly pushed his arm off of you and began the excruciating process of getting up. The second you sat up, white-hot soreness shot through your thighs, your stomach tightening from the sheer ache of overuse. A hiss escaped you as you gingerly swung your legs over the bed, muscles screaming in protest.

"Goddamn it, Miya," you muttered under your breath, wincing as you stood. Your legs wobbled dangerously, knees threatening to buckle before you caught yourself on the edge of your desk.

That cocky asshole fucked you stupid.

You cursed him again, more viciously this time, before dragging yourself toward the bathroom, muttering a string of colorful profanities as you went. A hot shower was the only thing that might save you now.

The sight in the bathroom mirror was humiliating.

Your hair was a tangled disaster, barely clinging to the remnants of the ponytail you had thrown it into at some point last night, stray strands sticking to your forehead and neck. Tugging the elastic free, you ran your fingers through the knots, hissing slightly as you tried to tame the mess. And then your gaze caught the deep, bruise-like hickey from your very first encounter, still staining the side of your neck, dark and undeniable.

Fucking fantastic.

Rolling your eyes, you reached for the shower handle, twisting it until steam began to rise. The second the warm water hit your skin, your muscles sighed in relief. You let out a breath, resting your forehead against the cool tile as last night replayed in your head.

How the hell had this happened?

More importantly—why the fuck had it been so good? It had been so long since you’d had genuinely good sex, since someone had touched you like that, made you come apart so completely. And it just had to be him. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Atsumu Miya.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. He had been too good—an irritatingly smug bastard with a filthy mouth and a body that knew exactly how to work yours. He had torn you apart, left you in shambles, ruined you, and the worst part? You wanted more.

Shaking your head, you rinsed the suds from your hair, trying to push the thought away as you finished up. When you stepped out, fresh and clean, you felt marginally better—until you walked back into your room.

He was still there. Still sprawled out, still snoring, dead to the world like he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

You scowled.

The audacity of this man.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped up to his side, glaring down at him. With a sharp flick to his forehead, you muttered, "Hey, this isn’t a bed and breakfast. Go home."

Atsumu groaned, shifting slightly but refusing to open his eyes. His golden hair was an absolute mess, strands sticking up in chaotic tufts, evidence of how thoroughly you had pulled at it throughout the night. His broad shoulders flexed lazily as he rolled onto his stomach, the curve of his back leading down to the sheets pooling dangerously low at his waist. The way his muscles shifted with the movement sent an unwanted spark of heat through you—fucking unfair.

His voice, thick with sleep and laced with satisfaction, rumbled through the room. "God, for how well I fucked you, you’d think you’d be less of a bitch," he mumbled, barely lifting his head before burying his face into your pillow, exhaling deeply like he had all the time in the world.

Your nostrils flared. Oh, hell no.

With zero hesitation, you ripped the blanket off of him, exposing his very naked form to the cool morning air. He let out a disgruntled noise, blindly reaching for the covers, but you had already thrown his underwear at his face.

"Get dressed and get out before your brother starts wondering where the hell you’ve been."

Atsumu groaned into the mattress, arms tucked under his head like he didn’t have a single care in the world. "S’too early for this," he grumbled.

Your glare intensified. "Miya. Get. Up."

He peeked at you from beneath his lashes, that lazy smirk creeping onto his face like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Y’know, sweetheart, ya didn’t seem too eager for me to leave last night. If I remember correctly, ya were beggin’ me to stay inside ya."

You saw red.

Lunging forward, you smacked him upside the head with a pillow, sending him coughing into the sheets. "Shut the fuck up and put your pants on!"

Atsumu wheezed out a laugh, rubbing his head as he sat up, his toned body stretching with a satisfied groan. "Aight, aight, I’m goin’—no need to get violent."

You rolled your eyes as he slid into his clothes, his stupid smirk never leaving his face. As soon as his shirt was on, he strolled up to you, eyes raking over you in nothing but your towel.

"Y’know," he mused, cocking his head, "I could just stay. Help ya recover."

Your eye twitched. This man had no shame.

Grabbing his hoodie from the floor, you shoved it into his chest. "Out."

He chuckled, stepping through the doorway before pausing, glancing over his shoulder.

"See ya at practice, sweetheart. Try not to miss me too much."

You crossed your arms. "Oh, suck my dick."

Atsumu’s smirk widened instantly. "I’ll do that next time."

Your face flamed as his words registered, but before you could react, he was already laughing, dodging your attempt to shove him as he disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there, breathless, flustered, and ready to launch something at his retreating figure. That bastard.

~~

The morning sun had risen higher by the time Atsumu finally dragged himself out of your house, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket as he walked back home. The crisp morning air did little to clear his head. His body ached—not in a bad way, but in that thoroughly-used, completely-spent kind of way, muscles sore from hours of exertion. Every step sent a reminder of exactly what he had been doing all night, and with whom.

And his mind?

It was a fucking mess.

He wasn’t dumb. He knew exactly what this was. You hated his guts, and he gave you just as much shit in return. That wasn’t changing anytime soon. You were bossy, relentless, always looking for a way to put him in his place—and goddammit, it infuriated him.

But last night?

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as flashes of you—your legs tangled with his, the way your breath had hitched every time he pushed deeper, how you had fought him for control—flooded his mind.

Fuck.

He could still feel you, phantom traces of your nails scraping down his back, the warmth of your body, the way your thighs had locked around him like you were daring him to stop. And that look on your face when you finally gave in? Yeah, that shit was burned into his memory.

And damn it all, it was the best sex he’d ever had.

Atsumu wasn’t naive—he’d been with girls before, and sure, he liked to think he was good in bed. No one had ever complained. But with you?

It was different.

Not just the sex—though, fuck, it was phenomenal—but the build-up. The tension, the aggression, the way you had fought him every step of the way, and still melted under him just the same. It made his blood run hotter, his instincts sharper, like every second with you was some kind of battle he was dying to win.

And now? Now he had fucked you senseless, and instead of feeling satisfied like he normally would, his body was already itching to do it again.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as his house came into view. His entire body felt heavy, spent, and the only thing on his mind now was crashing into his bed and sleeping for the next eight hours. Maybe then he could stop thinking about the way your breathy moans had completely wrecked him.

"Shit."

The front door creaked open as he stepped inside, toeing off his shoes. The kitchen was quiet, but a note caught his attention, stuck to the fridge with a volleyball magnet.

Went to grab groceries. Be back later. Try not to destroy the house.

Atsumu huffed a small, tired laugh and crumpled the note in his fist before heading down the hall, desperate for the sleep he hadn’t gotten. His bed was calling him, and he could already feel the exhaustion creeping up his limbs, finally ready to crash.

But the second he stepped into his bedroom, a familiar voice made him pause.

"I covered for you last night, you know."

Atsumu barely spared his twin a glance, too tired to argue. "Uh huh. Thanks."

Osamu was sitting up on his own bed, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "So, you’re just not gonna tell me where you were last night?"

Atsumu groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair before flopping face-first onto his mattress. "Samu, I swear to god, I’m too tired for this."

Osamu, unimpressed, leaned back against the headboard, watching his twin like he could see through his bullshit already. "That so? ‘Cause ya look like ya got hit by a truck."

Atsumu grunted into his pillow. Yeah. A truck named you.

Osamu let the silence stretch between them before sighing. "Was it a girl?"

Atsumu tensed for half a second before he forced his body to relax, rolling onto his side, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"It does when yer actin’ all weird about it." Osamu's tone was far too knowing for Atsumu's liking. His twin wasn’t one to pry, but he was also damn observant, and Atsumu had no doubt that if he wasn’t careful, Osamu would piece everything together before the day was over.

Atsumu exhaled heavily. "Can ya just let me sleep?"

Osamu narrowed his eyes, something clicking into place behind them. "Wait a second... You were actin’ weird as hell yesterday, and the manager didn’t even show up to practice in the afternoon..."

Atsumu forced his expression to stay neutral, shoving down the immediate impulse to react. "What? You think I was with her?" He scoffed, shaking his head as he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Relax, Samu. It was just some girl from class—Airi Sakamoto."

Osamu didn’t say anything for a second, but Atsumu felt him still watching. Weighing his words. Judging his reaction.

"Huh." Osamu finally leaned back against the headboard. "Didn’t think ya liked Airi."

Atsumu shrugged, doing his best to sound unaffected. "Nothin’ serious. Just some fun."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

The way Osamu said it made Atsumu’s skin itch. Like he wasn’t entirely convinced, but he also wasn’t going to push—yet. His twin was perceptive as hell, but thankfully, he wasn’t nosy unless something really bugged him.

Atsumu exhaled slowly, trying to let his body relax. Good. This’ll blow over.

Osamu didn’t push any further, but Atsumu knew better than to assume this was over. His twin had that look, the one that said he wasn’t entirely buying it but was willing to let it sit for now. Atsumu could only hope that was enough to keep him from digging further.

But as he finally closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at his limbs, the image of you still wouldn’t leave his head.

This was gonna be a problem.

~~

Monday morning arrived far too quickly, the weight of the weekend still lingering in your muscles, your thoughts, your everything. The cold air bit at your skin as you made your way toward the gym, your feet dragging slightly despite your best efforts to act normal. You had spent the entire weekend trying—desperately trying—to push everything that had happened with Atsumu to the back of your mind. But now, with practice looming ahead, it felt like all of it was crawling right back up your throat.

How the hell were you supposed to pretend like nothing had happened?

It had been two days. Forty-eight hours since you had let Atsumu ruin you, and now you had to walk into practice and act like you hadn’t spent half the weekend moaning his name. Like he hadn’t touched you in ways you could still feel.

Fucking fantastic.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you took a deep breath. It was fine. You just had to do what you always did—be civil enough to get through practice without anyone suspecting a damn thing. You could ignore him. You could pretend that nothing was different.

You had to.

But it wasn’t just about ignoring him. No, that would have been too easy. Because the thing with Atsumu was that he wasn’t the type to just let things go. He was an asshole, a relentless one at that, and you had no doubt that the second he saw you, he was going to say something. He was going to look at you with that stupid fucking smirk, that self-satisfied, cocky-ass grin, and you were going to have to find a way not to strangle him in front of everyone.

Up ahead, you spotted Kita unlocking the gym doors, his usual composed demeanor unchanged. He glanced up as you approached, his sharp eyes immediately settling on you as he gave a small nod in greeting.

"Mornin'. Feelin' better?" he asked casually.

You froze mid-step. What?

Your brain went completely blank for a solid second before the realization slammed into you.

Oh. Right.

You had told Kita you were sick to get out of afternoon practice on Friday. Shit.

You forced your face into neutrality, schooling your features as quickly as you could. "Uh—" you blinked, then cleared your throat. "Yeah. Head cold."

Kita gave a small, approving nod, his expression unreadable. "Good. Glad you’re back."

You exhaled, relieved that he didn’t press further, though the reminder of your flimsy excuse only added to the pile of things to stress about today.

The real problem wasn’t Kita.

It was stepping into that gym and seeing Atsumu again.

You could already feel it, the weight of his presence, the way the air would shift the second you walked in. You knew him too well. You had been fighting with him for years. And now? Now you had to pretend like his hands hadn’t been all over you, like you hadn’t spent the weekend letting him fuck you in every way imaginable.

And the worst part? You had no idea how to handle it.

With one last deep breath, you squared your shoulders, plastering the most neutral expression you could manage onto your face, and followed Kita inside.

The gym was empty, still wrapped in the early morning quiet, save for the distant hum of the overhead lights flickering to life as Kita stepped ahead, checking the locks and switches with his usual efficiency. You made a beeline for the storage room, the familiar echo of your footsteps bouncing off the polished floors, each step grounding you in the routine—a routine you needed now more than ever.

Pulling out the cart of volleyballs, you set about your usual tasks, rolling out the net, setting up the poles, unfolding the mats in the corner of the gym—all movements embedded in your muscle memory, allowing your mind to drift even as your body worked.

But your thoughts weren’t cooperating.

Each small motion felt heavier today, like every act of normalcy was forcing your mind to ignore the very obvious elephant in the room: Atsumu fucking Miya.

The past weekend had unraveled something you weren’t ready to confront. The sharp, burning pull of hatred, desire, competition, frustration—it was still there, coiling beneath your skin like a live wire. How were you supposed to erase the feeling of his body against yours? The way he had looked at you in the dim light of your bedroom, golden eyes dark with something you refused to name? The way he had made you come undone over and over until you had lost track of time?

Your fingers curled around the net, gripping it too tightly.

You had to get a grip.

You gave your head a sharp shake, forcing the thoughts down, deep, deep down where they wouldn’t interfere with practice. Because that was all it was—practice. A normal morning, a normal routine. You just had to act normal.

And more importantly, you had to act like Atsumu didn’t still linger in the ache between your thighs, in the phantom press of his fingers along your waist, in the way your pulse picked up just thinking about him.

You scowled at yourself. Pathetic.

Straightening, you grabbed a volleyball from the cart, tossing it idly from one hand to the other, trying to reset your mind. The doors would open soon. The team would pile in. Atsumu would walk through that door.

And you needed to be ready.

It wasn’t long before the distant echo of voices signaled the arrival of the team, the usual mix of early morning grumbles and lighthearted banter filling the space as the gym doors swung open. You kept your focus on the net, adjusting its tension with a practiced ease, but it was impossible to ignore the way their presence shifted the atmosphere—the way his presence shifted the atmosphere.

A few of the guys greeted you as they passed, their voices casual, unaware of the storm inside your head.

"Hey, you feeling better?" one of them asked, pausing briefly near the cart of volleyballs.

You nodded, forcing a polite smile. "Yeah. Just a head cold."

"Glad you're back. Kita was worried."

That surprised you. Kita worried? You glanced toward the captain, who was already overseeing warm-ups with his usual composed expression. He must have noticed your hesitation because he gave a small nod of acknowledgment, as if to confirm the statement. Huh.

But then, you made a mistake.

Your gaze drifted across the gym, landing on him.

Atsumu had just stepped inside, his duffel slung lazily over one shoulder, his hair slightly disheveled as if he hadn’t bothered fixing it properly before rolling out of bed. The second your eyes met, he smirked.

Not just any smirk.

That smirk. The one that sent heat rushing up your neck, pooling low in your stomach, the one that made you clench your fists just to stop yourself from reacting. It was lazy, self-satisfied, and undeniably knowing—like he could still feel you on him, like he could still hear the way you moaned his name in the quiet of your room.

Your body betrayed you instantly.

A rush of heat, a sudden tightening in your core, a traitorous pulse between your legs that sent panic flaring through your mind. No. No, no, no.

You locked up, fingers tightening around the net’s frame, every ounce of rational thought crumbling beneath the weight of that goddamn smirk.

"Uh—earth to manager?"

You jolted slightly, blinking rapidly as Suna waved a hand in front of your face, his sharp eyes flickering with mild amusement. Shit.

"You good? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I—" You cleared your throat, willing yourself to snap back to reality. "Yeah. Just—distracted."

Suna’s gaze lingered for a second too long before he shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "If you say so."

You exhaled sharply, heart still hammering against your ribs as you forced yourself to focus.

Practice was starting. You needed to get it together.

The drills started off as routine as ever, the rhythmic sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, volleyballs slamming against the net, and voices calling out sets filling the gym. You went about your usual duties, keeping water bottles filled, retrieving stray balls, observing. Everything was exactly as it should be. Almost.

Because you were noticing things you had never noticed before.

Atsumu had always been an impressive player. You knew that. His skill was the reason he was the starting setter of Inarizaki, the reason scouts were always eyeing him for future prospects. But you had never let yourself notice him like this before.

The way his muscles flexed every time he set the ball, the way his strong arms held complete control over the game, the sheer power behind every calculated move—it all felt too familiar. His body was built for this sport, lean but strong, his movements fluid and commanding, just like that night.

You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze to shift anywhere else. No. Absolutely not.

And yet, your thoughts kept circling back to him, back to the way he had moved over you, with the same precision, the same power. Your thighs clenched involuntarily, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to snap yourself out of it. This was insane. This was Atsumu. The same Atsumu who had spent years annoying the shit out of you, pushing your buttons, picking fights just to rile you up.

You needed to leave. Now.

The second practice ended, you grabbed your things and bolted, moving toward the exit before anyone could stop you. The last thing you needed was more time around him. You just had to make it to class, shake off whatever the hell was happening in your head, and forget—

A hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back into the shadow of the gym just as the rest of the team filtered out. Warm, calloused fingers wrapped around your skin, familiar and firm.

Atsumu.

You barely had time to register his presence before he was speaking, voice low enough that no one else could hear.

"My place'll be empty tonight," he said, his tone so damn casual you could have punched him. "Samu's got a project."

You scowled, immediately tugging your wrist from his grasp. "And why should I care?"

Atsumu didn’t answer right away, just raised a brow like he knew something you didn’t. Like he knew exactly what was going on in your head. And then, with that insufferable smirk, he said, "Come over after practice."

And then he walked away, leaving you pissed—because you knew in your heart that you were going.

Confessions: Atsumu

You’ve known the Miya twins for as long as you can remember. They were the loudest boys on the playground, all scuffed knees and sunburned cheeks, their laughter carrying across the schoolyard like a war cry. Atsumu, the loudmouth with a cocky grin that drove teachers insane, and Osamu, the quieter one who always seemed two seconds away from dragging his brother out of trouble. You were caught in the middle—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—but you never complained. Being with them was easy. Natural. Like breathing.

“Yer too slow!” Atsumu had whined once, standing at the edge of the sandbox with his hands on his hips while you struggled to keep up. “Then go ahead without me!” you’d huffed, kicking sand in his direction, cheeks flushed and breathless.

But he never did.

No matter how many times you fell behind, no matter how many times Osamu rolled his eyes and threatened to leave you both behind, Atsumu always waited. And somehow, that pattern never changed.

Years passed. Middle school turned into high school. The three of you didn’t hang out as much anymore—between club activities, exams, and life pulling you in different directions, it was harder to find the time. But you still showed up. For them.

You never missed a game, sitting in the stands with Osamu’s mom and cheering as loud as the rest of the Inarizaki fans. You watched Atsumu serve with impossible precision, eyes narrowing with focus before the ball left his hand. You watched Osamu spike with terrifying accuracy, his smirk barely contained afterward. You were proud of them both, proud to see them rise, proud to be part of the crowd that supported them.

“Yer comin’ to the next match, right?” Atsumu asked one afternoon after practice, leaning against the fence with his bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was damp, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead, and his uniform was loose, hanging casually over his broad frame. The sun was dipping lower, casting warm orange hues across the field where a few stragglers still kicked a soccer ball around. You glanced up from your phone, pretending to be nonchalant. “I always do, don’t I?” His grin stretched wide—cocky and confident, just like always—but there was something in his eyes. Something… uncertain. Hidden beneath the bravado. “Just checkin’.” He kicked at the dirt, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement. “Ya don’t gotta, y’know. Betcha got better things to do than watch us all the time.”

Osamu was the one who noticed it first, the subtle shift in Atsumu’s behavior. It was after another win, and the three of you had gone out to grab a bite. Atsumu was unusually quiet, barely picking at his food while you and Osamu bickered over the best dipping sauce for karaage. “Oi,” Osamu had muttered under his breath when you went to the counter to grab more napkins. “What’s with ya?”

“Nothin’,” Atsumu had mumbled, poking at his plate, but Osamu’s eyes had narrowed. “Ya never shut up. Now yer quiet? Somethin’s up.”

“Nothin’s up,” Atsumu insisted, but Osamu didn’t look convinced. He shot his brother a look but didn’t press further. Later that night, as you waved goodbye and promised to see them at the next game, Osamu lingered behind. “He’s actin’ weird,” he muttered, watching Atsumu walk ahead. “Ya notice?”

You had laughed, brushing it off. “When isn’t he weird?”

It wasn’t until you started talking about someone else—Takahiro, a guy from your class—that things started to change. He was smart, funny, and polite in a way that seemed almost too perfect. You didn’t even realize how often you were mentioning him—how your eyes lit up when you talked about how he made you laugh during group projects, how he texted you after class to ask if you understood the material. At first, Atsumu barely reacted. Just a quirk of his brow and a half-hearted, “Huh. Cool.” But then it happened again. And again. And suddenly, Takahiro’s name was slipping into conversations more often than not, and Atsumu noticed. Every. Single. Time.

He didn’t say anything to you about it. But he did talk to Osamu.

“He likes her, don’t he?” Atsumu had muttered one afternoon, his voice low, barely audible as they sat in the back of the gym after practice. His knees were drawn up, elbows resting loosely on them while he picked absentmindedly at the tape around his fingers, pulling at the frayed edges like they held the answers to his problems.

Osamu raised a brow, glancing sideways at his brother. “Who? Takahiro?” His tone was neutral, but the way he looked at Atsumu was anything but.

“Yeah.” Atsumu’s jaw clenched as he peeled another strip of tape from his skin, eyes fixed on the floor. “She’s always talkin’ about him lately. Laughin’ at his dumb jokes. Her face lights up when she talks about him.”

“Since when do ya pay attention to that kinda thing?” Osamu’s tone was teasing, but there was something careful underneath it, something that probed deeper.

“I don’t.” Atsumu’s answer was too fast, too defensive. His fingers stilled against his knee, tape forgotten as he shifted, posture rigid.

Osamu tilted his head, watching his brother closely. “Right.” Silence stretched between them for a beat, thick and unspoken. “So, why do ya care?”

“I don’t.” Atsumu’s voice was quieter this time, almost too quiet. But his jaw was tight, his eyes dark with something Osamu didn’t need to ask about.

Osamu exhaled softly, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Yer full of shit, y’know.” He didn’t push, didn’t ask any more questions. But his words lingered in the air, hanging heavy between them. Atsumu didn’t respond, and Osamu let it go—for now. But the silence that followed spoke louder than anything Atsumu could’ve said.

You started noticing the shift after that. Atsumu was different—quieter around you, shorter with his words. His usual sharp remarks didn’t carry the same playful edge anymore. They were clipped, like he was forcing himself to stay distant. At first, you thought he was just tired. Volleyball took its toll, and with nationals approaching, it wasn’t unusual for the entire team to be running on fumes. But this was different. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by something colder, something heavier that settled in the pit of your stomach. His eyes didn’t linger on you the way they used to, and when they did, there was something in them you couldn’t place. Frustration? Hurt? You weren’t sure, but it left a bad taste in your mouth.

It all came to a head during the next game.

It was an intense match—one where every point mattered, the air thick with anticipation. You were in your usual spot in the stands, cheering louder than most of the crowd, but this time… you weren’t alone. Takahiro was beside you, leaning in close, his shoulder brushing yours as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. You didn’t notice the way Atsumu’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp and fleeting, but he saw it. He saw the way you smiled—soft and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners—and it knocked the air out of his lungs.

It burned.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling a little too tightly around the ball as he lined up his serve. He tried to shake it off, to focus on the game, but your laugh echoed louder than the roar of the crowd in his ears. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, faster, harder, until it drowned out everything else. The whistle blew. He tossed the ball, went through the motions—but his mind wasn’t in it. His focus was shattered, replaced by a tangled mess of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with.

The ball sailed too far.

Out of bounds.

By a mile.

The murmur that rippled through the crowd was deafening in his ears. Atsumu’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his teeth grinding together as he forced himself to breathe through the frustration. He didn’t look at you after that. He couldn’t. But he felt it—your eyes on him, concern etched into your features, even as you turned back to Takahiro. The tension settled like a weight in his chest, suffocating and inescapable.

Throughout the rest of the game, Atsumu was off. His sets were technically perfect, but they lacked their usual precision. His timing was a second too late, his movements a little too forced. The fire that usually burned in his veins, the one that made him relentless on the court, was barely a flicker. And no one noticed but Osamu.

“Get yer head outta yer ass, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered under his breath during a timeout, his voice low enough that only Atsumu could hear. “Yer messin’ up, and I know why.”

Atsumu didn’t respond, eyes locked on the floor, jaw clenched. But Osamu wasn’t done. “If ya don’t fix it, we’re gonna lose. And if we do, it’s on you.”

By some miracle, Inarizaki still scraped by with a win—but barely. Atsumu was the first one off the court when the final whistle blew, not bothering to stick around as the team lined up to thank the crowd. His skin was crawling, frustration boiling beneath the surface as he tore off his sweat-soaked jersey and tossed it into his bag. He needed to clear his head. He needed to breathe.

And you? You noticed.

“Where’s Atsumu?” you asked, concern lacing your voice as you turned to Osamu while everyone congratulated the team. Osamu’s eyes flickered toward the gym, his expression neutral but his tone softer than usual. “Needed some air,” he muttered, his voice quiet but knowing. “Ya know how he gets.” And that was all it took.

Your chest tightened. Something told you this wasn’t just about a bad game.

“Oi, Miya!” Takahiro’s voice broke through the hum of post-game chatter as he stepped forward, flashing a bright smile. “Hell of a match out there. You guys pulled through in the end.” His words were polite, his tone smooth, but the second they left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted.

Ginjima, who was standing nearby, narrowed his eyes, barely masking his distaste as he gave Takahiro a once-over. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it looked like he was about to say something. "So, ya think—"

But before he could finish, Aran stepped in, his usual easy-going demeanor firming up as he gave Takahiro a curt nod.

“Thanks,” Aran cut in smoothly, his tone polite but clipped just enough to send a message. “Appreciate it.”

Takahiro, oblivious to the silent exchange, just smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “No problem. You guys really pulled through.”

You felt the tension rolling off Ginjima, and even Kita’s usually neutral expression was unreadable as his eyes flickered between Takahiro and the team.

You lingered with the team for a little while longer, standing by Aran as he exchanged a few polite words with Takahiro, who was blissfully unaware of the underlying tension. You nodded along, adding the occasional "yeah" or "for sure" as Takahiro talked about how intense the game had been and how impressed he was by Inarizaki's performance. But your mind was elsewhere.

Atsumu’s absence gnawed at you. The way he’d left the court so quickly, the frustration rolling off of him in waves—it didn’t sit right. Something was wrong, and no matter how much you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you, the pit in your stomach wouldn’t go away.

Eventually, as the crowd began to thin out and the post-game buzz started to fade, Takahiro turned to you with that same easy smile. "We’re all gonna grab something to eat after. You coming?"

You hesitated, your heart tugging you in a different direction. "Hey… I think I’m gonna head home," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m kinda tired."

Takahiro’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. "You sure? We were all gonna hang out for a bit."

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you replied, offering him a quick, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright… text me when you get home, yeah?"

“Of course.”

But you had no intention of going home.

As Takahiro rejoined the group, you slipped away, weaving through the crowd without a second glance. Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you back toward the gym, where you knew exactly where Atsumu would be. Something gnawed at your gut, telling you this wasn’t just about a bad game. You could feel it, a weight settling in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

As you got closer to the gym, the familiar sound of volleyballs slamming against the floor echoed through the quiet night. The steady thump reverberated through the empty halls, each hit carrying a frustration that was almost palpable. Your steps slowed as you approached the entrance, the muffled grunts of effort and the sharp sound of rubber meeting wood growing louder with each step.

When you reached the doorway, you stopped, heart hammering in your ears as you took in the sight before you. Atsumu was there, just as you’d known he would be. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his hair damp and sticking to his skin. His jersey was clinging to his back, soaked through, and the gym floor was littered with scattered volleyballs, some rolling lazily across the surface after missed targets. But Atsumu wasn’t slowing down.

His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on an invisible target as he tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, body coiling with raw power. The crack of the ball echoed through the gym as it slammed into the floor, and a grunt of frustration escaped his lips, reverberating off the walls.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, watching him pour every ounce of frustration and anger into each serve. He didn’t notice you. Not yet.

“You're gonna break the damn floor at this rate.”

Your voice echoed across the empty gym, but Atsumu didn’t stop. He tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, slamming it with a grunt that reverberated off the walls. The ball ricocheted off the floor and hit the back wall with a loud thud. His breathing was heavy, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged inhale.

“Go home.” His voice was clipped, laced with exhaustion and something sharper. He didn’t turn to look at you, eyes locked on the next ball he was already lining up.

“Atsumu,” you said softly, stepping further into the gym. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.” He tossed the ball, and another loud thwack echoed through the gym as the ball hit the floor. “Go home.”

But you didn’t move.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Your voice was firmer this time, crossing your arms as you stood your ground. But then, as Atsumu lined up another ball, ready to serve, you couldn’t take it anymore. Your feet moved before your brain caught up, and you stepped forward, planting yourself right in front of him.

“Atsumu, stop.”

His eyes widened in surprise, the ball still gripped tightly in his hand, but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, heart pounding as you met his gaze head-on.

“Move,” he muttered, his voice low, but there was no real heat behind it.

“No,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m not moving until you talk to me.”

“Why even bother?” His voice was sharper now, but there was something raw beneath the anger. “Go back to yer boyfriend. Bet he’s waitin’ for ya.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his words. “Boyfriend? You mean Takahiro?”

“Yeah, him.” He finally turned, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt, frustration… jealousy? “Bet he’s real smitten with ya, sittin’ in the stands, watchin’ ya smile at him like that.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Atsumu snapped, his voice rising. “I saw ya. Laughin’ at his jokes, lettin’ him get close. Ya looked real happy. Real fuckin’ happy.”

“That’s what this is about?” Your voice sharpened, anger bubbling to the surface. “You’re pissed because I was talking to Takahiro?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Atsumu drawled, his tone dripping with mock sweetness as he dropped the ball and crossed his arms. “‘Takahiro’s so nice,’” he mimicked, his voice going higher, mimicking yours in an exaggerated, sing-song way. “‘Takahiro helped me with my assignment.’ ‘Takahiro said the funniest thing today.’” He scoffed, his expression darkening as he took a step closer, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to jealousy. “Ya never shut up about him.”

If you weren't pissed before, you sure as hell were now.

Your jaw clenched, heat rushing to your face as your hands balled into fists at your sides. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” He let out a bitter laugh, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just sick of listenin’ to ya gush about him like he hung the damn moon.”

“Are you serious right now?!” You raised your voice, the frustration bubbling over. “You’re actin’ like a damn child, Atsumu!”

“Maybe I am!” Atsumu’s voice shot up, matching yours as his face flushed with anger. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made your pulse race. “But at least I’m not the one actin’ blind to what’s right in front of me!”

“Blind to what?!” You threw your hands in the air, voice sharp and cutting as you took a step toward him, closing the space between you until there was barely any room left. Your chest brushed his as you tilted your chin up to meet his fiery gaze. “Why do you even care so much, Atsumu?!”

“Why do I care?!” He was practically towering over you now, his breath hot and ragged as his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with frustration. “Because ya never stop talkin’ about him! ‘Takahiro this, Takahiro that!’ It’s all I ever fuckin’ hear!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t act like you don’t give a damn about me!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down, standing your ground even as the tension between you became suffocating.

“I don’t give a damn?!” Atsumu’s voice was louder now, the frustration bleeding into his tone as he stepped even closer, his chest brushing against yours. “You’re the one who’s been actin’ like I’m invisible! Like I’m just—just some guy while yer out there with him!”

“Then why didn’t you say something?!” You screamed, voice echoing through the gym, your frustration boiling over. Your hands were trembling now, knuckles white from how hard you were clenching them at your sides. “Why do you even care so much?!”

“Because I love you!”

The words erupted from him, loud and raw, his voice breaking as the confession echoed through the gym and filled the space between you. His chest heaved, his face flushed from a mix of anger and desperation, and his eyes—wide, vulnerable, and filled with something you hadn’t seen before—were locked onto yours.

You froze, the weight of his words crashing down like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. The world went silent, and for the first time since you’d stepped into that gym, neither of you had anything left to say.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you stared at him, his chest still heaving from the force of his confession. The air felt thick, suffocating, as your mind raced to process what he had just said. Seconds stretched on, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Then, without thinking, without giving yourself a chance to second-guess it, you stepped forward. Your eyes locked on his, your expression unreadable, and before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him down.

"You’re so fucking stupid," you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was fierce, fueled by weeks—no, months—of pent-up frustration, confusion, and feelings you had pushed down for far too long. Your lips crashed into his, and Atsumu froze for half a second before he was kissing you back with just as much desperation. His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the world around you blurred until nothing else existed.

The anger, the yelling, the unspoken words—they all melted away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in the heat of the moment, finally giving in to everything you’d both been too stubborn to admit.

Jealousy: Atsumu

The celebratory buzz of victory still lingered heavy in the air, blending seamlessly with the steady hum of the dimly lit bar. Neon lights glowed softly overhead, reflecting off half-empty glasses and illuminating faces flushed from laughter and excitement. The MSBY Jackals had just secured another victory, and the night was young—filled with endless possibilities for celebration.

You excused yourself briefly, slipping away to the bathroom to freshen up, confident Atsumu would manage fine for a few minutes without you. After all, he was your boyfriend, and everyone on the team knew it.

But apparently, not everyone in the bar did.

Returning a few moments later, your eyes instantly zeroed in on your boyfriend, who was leaning against the bar, drink in hand, politely nodding at something a pretty brunette was enthusiastically telling him. Her gestures were exaggerated, her smile bright and flirtatious, eyes gleaming with undisguised interest.

Atsumu, ever the people-pleaser, was wearing his usual easy smirk, clearly indulging the conversation while keeping it just polite enough to not be rude. He wasn’t uncomfortable—just looking for the right opportunity to leave without making a scene. You, however, were not nearly as patient.

The sharp twinge of jealousy that shot through your chest was unexpected, hot, and immediate, intensifying further when the girl boldly reached out, her delicate fingers lingering on his bicep as she laughed at something he said. Your eyes narrowed sharply, irritation prickling beneath your skin, making your pulse quicken.

You moved forward before you fully processed it, steps deliberate, chin held high. Without hesitation, you reached Atsumu’s side, sliding your arm firmly through his and pressing yourself close, your chest intentionally brushing against him. You felt him tense slightly in surprise before relaxing instantly when he recognized your touch.

"Hey, babe," you purred softly, voice dripping honey as you leaned up, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath his jawline, lips grazing the warm skin of his neck. Atsumu stiffened again, but this time it was from something entirely different, a shiver rippling down his spine as you let your lips linger just a bit longer than necessary.

Pulling back with a possessive little smile, you turned your attention to the woman whose hand had fallen awkwardly away, eyes wide in stunned silence.

"Oh," you said innocently, tilting your head just slightly. "Who's your new friend, 'Tsumu?"

Atsumu cleared his throat, clearly biting back an amused grin. "Honestly, I didn't catch her name."

The woman laughed awkwardly, cheeks flushing pink as she waved a hand in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were... together."

"Oh, no worries," you smiled sweetly, your eyes glittering with playful sharpness. "He’s a pretty polite guy, isn’t he? Almost too nice for his own good sometimes." You chuckled lightly, your fingers tracing gentle circles along his arm. Then, as if remembering something, you turned to Atsumu, voice light and casual, "I think I’m done for the night. Wanna head out?"

Atsumu barely hesitated before flashing you a lazy grin. "Yeah, sounds good."

You turned back to the woman, still smiling as she swallowed thickly, her face now a shade darker. "Are you a fan? It's always lovely to meet his fans."

The woman opened her mouth—then closed it, nodding mutely.

"Well, we’re heading out. Hope ya have a great night!" you chirped before steering Atsumu toward the exit, satisfied with how quickly the situation had turned in your favor.

The second she was out of sight, Atsumu glanced down at you, eyebrows raised, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across his lips. "Ya okay there, sweetheart?"

You sighed, lips pursed in annoyance. "I’m fine."

His grin widened knowingly. "Ya sure? Seemed a little territorial back there."

"I was not territorial," you huffed defensively, fingers tightening unconsciously around his arm.

Atsumu chuckled warmly, leaning in until his lips brushed teasingly against your ear, breath warm as he whispered, "Sure felt like it."

Heat spread across your cheeks as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, embarrassment mixing with lingering irritation. "Shut up. You weren’t exactly doing a good job of making her leave."

He laughed, the rich sound rumbling through his chest as he wrapped an arm securely around your waist, guiding you gently toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps ya sleep at night."

Rolling your eyes fondly, you leaned into him, smiling despite yourself. "You're impossible."

"Mhm," he hummed, pressing a teasing kiss to the top of your head, his voice dropping to a low, amused murmur. "But ya love it."

Then, in a lower, rougher tone, he added, "And, not gonna lie, kinda turned me on."

You blinked, heat spreading to your ears now as you gave him a side glance. "Are you serious?"

Atsumu smirked, tugging you just a bit closer as his lips barely grazed the shell of your ear. "Wanna head home and find out?"

The weight of his words settled between you, thick and charged. You exhaled softly, your fingers brushing along the hem of his jacket. "You’re really impossible."

"Mhm," Atsumu hummed, mischief dancing in his golden eyes as he leaned down, lips hovering just over yours. "But I’m yours."

Jealousy: Osamu

The scent of rich broth and fresh noodles hung thick in the air, filling Osamu’s restaurant with a warmth that, under any other circumstance, he would have appreciated.

But tonight? Tonight, it was the smell of betrayal.

Osamu leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled irritation as you happily slurped down another bite of Atsumu’s ramen.

His twin sat across from you, looking way too pleased with himself, arms folded as he watched you enjoy his so-called cooking.

Osamu hated that look.

It was the same damn smirk Atsumu had worn their whole lives—whenever he managed to piss Osamu off, whenever he got away with something he shouldn’t have, whenever he won by sheer bullshit luck.

And now? Now he was wearing it in Osamu’s own shop.

"Damn, ‘Tsumu," you sighed, tilting the bowl to sip the broth. "This is amazing. I didn’t know you could cook like this!"

Osamu felt a deep, personal offense settle in his bones.

His entire career revolved around food. He had spent years perfecting his recipes, testing flavors, fine-tuning every last detail. He had trained under some of the best chefs, built this restaurant from the ground up.

And now, here you were, gushing over a bowl of glorified college survival food.

Atsumu leaned back, smug. "Told ya. I got talents."

Osamu let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose.

"You put a packet of dried seasoning into hot water," he said flatly.

You blinked. "Yeah, but the broth is really flavorful! What did you put in it, ‘Tsumu?"

Atsumu smirked, tipping his head like he was about to unveil some grand chef's secret. "Oh, ya know, just instinct—"

"It’s instant."

You didn’t even catch the shift in energy, completely oblivious to the deadly stare Osamu was leveling at his twin.

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Technically, yeah," he admitted, "but I added some stuff—”

“Oh, yeah?” Osamu lifted a brow, arms still crossed tight. “And what’d ya add, exactly?”

Atsumu suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. “Uh. A soft-boiled egg.”

Osamu’s eye twitched.

Silence stretched between them.

Tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

You, utterly unaware, stretched with a satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

You leaned down to press a quick kiss to Osamu’s cheek—normally enough to calm him down—but he was too busy staring daggers at his brother to even register it.

The second the door shut behind you, Osamu turned to Atsumu.

“What’s your deal?”

Atsumu blinked, mouth half-full of noodles. “Huh?”

Osamu’s jaw tightened. “Ya woke up today and decided to piss me off?”

“For makin’ ramen?”

"She liked it."

Atsumu stared, then—as if the realization physically smacked him across the face—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, like he was witnessing something life-changing. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Are ya—jealous?"

Osamu stiffened.

"Shut up."

"No. No way." Atsumu clutched his chest like he had just been blessed with the funniest joke in history. "Yer seriously mad ‘cause she liked my ramen?”

"Ya don’t cook," Osamu shot back, glaring. "That’s my thing."

Atsumu laughed. Full, loud, obnoxious cackles that echoed through the kitchen.

“Oh, ‘Samu,” he wheezed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "I promise, yer the only chef in my heart."

Osamu grabbed a dishtowel and launched it straight at his face.

Atsumu barely dodged in time, still laughing like a damn hyena.

By the time you returned, Atsumu was half-wheezing into his bowl, Osamu was murdering a pile of green onions with his knife, and the air was thick with something way more intense than sibling rivalry.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh… did I miss something?"

Atsumu, struggling to breathe through his grin, pointed a dramatic finger at his twin.

Osamu, without looking up, muttered, "He’s banned from my kitchen."

Rivalry: Atsumu (Pt.2) NSFW

You barely remembered the trip home. Your body moved on autopilot, the mortification from earlier fogging your brain to the point that you couldn't focus on anything else. The second you made it through your bedroom door, you slammed it shut behind you and slid down against it, your legs giving out as you collapsed onto the floor.

"What the fuck did I just do?"

The words came out in a strangled whisper, as if saying them too loudly would make the situation even more real. You pressed your hands to your face, groaning into your palms as every moment replayed itself in your head like a sick joke. The shouting, the insults, the way he kissed you like he was trying to win—as if any of this was a game.

And worse? The way you kissed him back.

You wanted to blame the heat of the moment, the sheer exhaustion that had worn you thin, the suffocating tension that had been building up for years. But that didn’t excuse the fact that you had wrapped your legs around him, pulled him in, let yourself get so lost in him that you had completely forgotten where you were.

You smacked your forehead against your knees. "I am such an idiot."

The embarrassment made your skin crawl. You had let Atsumu Miya kiss you. And not just kiss you—practically devour you in a damn supply closet. You had been seconds away from—

No. No, you weren’t even going to think about that.

You forced yourself to stand, limbs still shaky as you shuffled toward your dresser, pulling out your sleepwear. Maybe if you went to bed and didn’t think about it, this entire thing would disappear from your memory by morning.

Right. Because that’s how trauma worked.

You peeled off your shirt, letting out a sigh as you tossed it into the laundry pile. Your fingers ran absentmindedly through your hair, eyes barely focusing on your reflection in the vanity mirror—

And then you saw it.

Your entire body went rigid.

There, on the side of your neck, just below your jawline, was a hickey.

Not just any hickey—a big, obnoxiously dark mark staining your skin, bold as fucking day. The kind that wasn’t going away anytime soon. The kind that was going to be impossible to cover up without half the school noticing.

Your eye twitched. Your pulse spiked.

That bastard.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, a fresh wave of fury searing through your veins.

"I’m gonna kill him."

___

The moment you stepped into the school building, your body was on edge.

You had taken extra time getting ready, draping a scarf around your neck despite the warm weather, just in case. The last thing you needed was for anyone to see the evidence of last night’s catastrophe.

But the second you stepped through the gym doors, you could feel him watching you.

Atsumu was already there, leaning lazily against the lockers, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk already in place.

“Yer all bundled up today,” he drawled, golden eyes flickering to the scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. “Ain’t it a little warm for that?”

You didn’t respond. You marched straight toward him, grabbing him by the arm before he could react and dragging him toward the back of the building, away from prying eyes.

“Oi—what the hell?” he complained, but he didn’t resist, letting you pull him along with a smug chuckle.

The second you were alone, you spun around, fire in your eyes. “You have a lot of goddamn nerve.”

Atsumu raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Me? What’d I do?”

You ripped off the scarf and pointed at your neck. “Care to explain this?”

His gaze flickered downward, and when he saw the mark, his smirk grew into something far too pleased for your liking. “Huh.”

“Huh?! That’s all you have to say?!”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? Looks good on ya.”

Your blood boiled.

“Where did you find the gall and the nerve to mark me like some sort of animal?!” you seethed. “Do you even care?!”

Atsumu sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his head. “Aww, sweetheart, didn’t know ya were that ashamed of me.”

Your eye twitched.

“Ashamed?! Oh, please—”

“Oh, so ya liked it?”

Your breath caught, your brain short-circuiting just long enough for him to chuckle. “I knew ya weren’t as immune to me as ya act.”

Your fists clenched, the fury behind your eyes nearly burning holes through him. “I swear to god, Miya, if you don’t wipe that smug look off your face, I’ll—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice low and taunting. He took a step closer, invading your space. “Ya gonna hit me? Scream at me? Oh, wait—ya already did plenty of screamin’ last night.”

Your stomach twisted into a violent knot. “Go to hell.”

Atsumu smirked, tilting his head. “Only if you join me, sweetheart.”

Red. All you saw was red.

Your hand shot out, shoving him hard in the chest. He barely stumbled, his smirk widening as if he’d expected it—wanted it. His eyes burned, dark and taunting, daring you to push him further.

“I fucking hate you,” you spat, voice shaking with rage. “Stay the hell away from me.”

Atsumu let the silence hang, watching you, unreadable—until his lips curled, voice dropping to something dangerous, something hungry.

“That’s not what I was gettin’ last night.”

Your breath hitched, your entire body locking up.

He leaned in just a fraction, enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His voice was nothing but a rough murmur. “In fact, from where I was sittin’… ya couldn’t get enough of me.”

You snapped. Without thinking, your hand whipped out, aiming to smack that cocky look off his face—but he caught your wrist before it could land. His grip was firm, tight, and the moment your skin met his, something flared in the space between you. A live wire, electric and burning.

For a second, neither of you moved. Your chest heaved, his fingers tightening around your wrist, his golden eyes locked onto yours, daring, challenging, waiting for your next move.

And then, just as quickly, he released you, stepping back with that damn smirk still in place. “See ya at practice, sweetheart.”

He turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, fists clenched so hard your nails bit into your palms.

You hated him. Hated him.

And you hated the fact that your skin still burned where he touched you.

__

The moment you stepped onto the court, the entire atmosphere had shifted. The usual lightheartedness was replaced by something else—something charged, something that even the others could feel. The tension between you and Atsumu was palpable, filling every space between you like static before a storm.

You did everything you could to ignore him, keeping your focus locked on the drills, on making sure everything ran smoothly as usual. But even as you busied yourself with tasks, taking inventory, filling water bottles, making sure the practice schedule was followed, you felt him. His presence, his gaze. And every single time you so much as glanced his way, you caught it—that smug, infuriating smirk, the one that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

Osamu was the first to crack. “She's even more pissed off than usual. What’d ya do to her?”

Atsumu’s head snapped toward his brother, jaw tightening. “Why do ya always assume I’m in the wrong?”

Osamu raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Dunno, maybe ‘cause ya usually are?”

Atsumu scoffed, gripping the volleyball tighter in his hands before tossing it up and setting it with too much force. “Fuck off, ‘Samu.”

Suna, from across the court, watched the exchange with mild interest, his usual lazy expression barely concealing the amusement behind his eyes. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The shared glance between him and Osamu said enough.

Even Kita had noticed. “Focus,” he called out flatly, directing the attention of the team back to practice. “Don’t need anyone actin’ stupid today.”

Your jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the clipboard in your hand. The fact that it was so obvious was frustrating enough. You’d hoped that whatever happened between you and Atsumu could be contained, that it wouldn’t seep into practice, but it was everywhere—in the way his passes came off just a little harder, in the way your own movements felt stiff and mechanical. In the way your stomach twisted whenever you so much as thought about the night before.

The second the whistle blew, signaling the end of practice, you didn’t hesitate. You were gone, out the door before anyone could stop you, barely pausing to acknowledge the rest of the team as they wrapped up.

You didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

You tried to go about your day. You really did. You sat through your classes, eyes locked on the board, scribbling down notes that you knew wouldn’t make any sense later. You went through the motions, completing assignments, answering when spoken to, doing everything you were supposed to do.

And yet, despite all of it, your mind refused to let you be.

It kept circling back to him.

The way he looked at you. The way his hands had felt gripping your waist. The heat of his breath against your skin. The smugness in his voice when he threw your own reactions back in your face, like he knew he was getting under your skin. Like he thrived on it.

You shook your head, frustrated, dragging a hand down your face as you sat in the back of the library, books open in front of you but nothing sinking in. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. And the worst part? He knew it.

Because Atsumu Miya was the absolute worst.

And you hated that, deep down, he knew it too.

It was like an itch under your skin, a pressure in your chest that refused to ease. No matter how much you told yourself you could push it away, forget it, move on—it lingered. Every time you blinked, you could still feel the way his hands had gripped you, how his breath had ghosted over your skin, how he had smirked like he had won.

You weren’t going to let him take up another second of your time.

Fuck this. And fuck him.

Jaw tight, you yanked your phone out of your pocket, fingers moving faster than your thoughts as you typed out a message to Kita.

Not feeling well. Can’t make it to afternoon practice.

Your thumb hovered over the send button for a split second before pressing down. As soon as the message was out, a weight lifted from your chest. There was no way in hell you were going to spend another hour in that gym, breathing the same air as him, pretending like everything was normal when it wasn’t.

You tossed your phone onto the table, running both hands down your face, exhaling slowly. You needed to clear your head. You needed space. One day—just one day—where Atsumu Miya wasn’t in your fucking mind.

A small vibration broke the silence, and you glanced at your phone again.

Kita: Okay. Feel better.

You stared at the message for a second before locking your phone and shoving it into your pocket.

You weren’t sick. But he sure as hell was making you feel like you were.

__

After spending the rest of the day trying to distract yourself—hanging out with friends, grabbing food, doing anything to keep your thoughts away from him—you finally made it home. The moment you stepped inside, the silence was welcoming, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

Your parents were gone for the weekend. No one was home. Just you, an empty house, and, finally, some peace.

You exhaled slowly, rolling your shoulders as you set your bag down by the door. The tension in your chest had begun to fade, little by little, replaced by the relief of knowing you didn’t have to see him, didn’t have to deal with his bullshit. You could relax, unwind, maybe even—

A knock at the door shattered the peace into a million fucking pieces.

Your head snapped toward the door, heart lurching into your throat. No way. It couldn’t be—

A second knock.

You stood frozen for half a second before irritation overtook any disbelief. Of course, it was him. Of course.

You stomped forward, already feeling the irritation claw its way back up your spine. The second you yanked open the door, your glare could’ve burned holes through his head.

Atsumu Miya, standing on your doorstep, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Your instincts kicked in immediately. Without thinking, without hesitating, you moved to slam the door shut.

But his foot jammed in before the door could close, wedging itself into the gap, keeping it wide open. He stepped forward, forcing his way into your space with that same smug arrogance he always carried. You glared at him, voice low, venomous.

“I didn’t invite you in.”

Atsumu turned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, completely unfazed by your hostility. “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t.” You crossed your arms tightly, shifting your weight as if physically bracing yourself for whatever ridiculous excuse he was about to pull from his ass.

He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing in determination. “I think we do. This whole thing between us? It’s screwin’ with the team.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “And whose fault is that?”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is fixin’ it. And I got a solution.”

You narrowed your eyes, already regretting even entertaining this conversation. “I swear to god, if this is some dumbass idea—”

“Let’s just fuck and get it outta our systems.”

Silence. Heavy. Thick. Suffocating.

Your brain stalled for a moment, your mouth parting as if waiting for an explanation that would somehow make his words less ridiculous.

“…Excuse me?”

Atsumu leaned against the doorframe, completely relaxed, completely serious. “You heard me.”

You blinked. Then a sharp, disbelieving laugh tore from your throat. “You are actually out of your goddamn mind.”

“Think about it,” he continued, as if he were suggesting something completely logical, completely normal. “All this pent-up tension? It ain’t gonna go away on its own. We fight like hell every time we’re near each other, and it’s makin’ shit hard for the team.”

You scoffed, arms crossing even tighter. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

His smirk sharpened. “You sure it’s just mine?”

Your fingers twitched, itching to strangle him. “Yes, Miya. It is. And I don’t know what kind of delusional fantasy you’ve been living in, but I wouldn’t touch you if my life depended on it.”

Atsumu’s grin widened. “Oh yeah? That’s not what it felt like the other night.”

Your blood boiled instantly. “I hate you.”

“Good,” he said, voice dropping slightly, gaze darkening. “Makes it easier.”

You hated that your breath caught. Hated that there was something dangerous in the way he looked at you, something that sent a sharp, electric pulse straight through your stomach, tightening like a vice, making your breath come just a little too short. He was standing too close, the heat radiating from him brushing against your skin, tangible, suffocating. It was infuriating—how he took up space, how he filled every damn inch of it like he belonged there, like this moment was inevitable.

Your mind screamed at you to slam the door in his face, to push him away, to tell him to go straight to hell where he belonged. But you knew, deep in the marrow of your bones, that it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d still be there, in your head, smirking, taunting, winning.

Because he was right about one thing.

The tension? The energy? The pull between you? It wasn’t going away. It had been festering, simmering beneath every argument, every pointed glare, every sharp-edged word exchanged over the years. It had always been there, a wildfire waiting for a spark.

You sucked in a sharp breath, trying—desperately—to rein in the rage, the irritation, the heat that was threatening to consume you whole. Every logical part of you screamed to shove him out, to not give in, to refuse him like you always had. But the rest of you? The part that was tired of the fight, of the push and pull, of resisting something that never truly went away? That part just wanted relief. “You’re serious about this?”

His smirk faded slightly, but the intensity in his eyes remained. “Dead serious.”

A battle waged inside you, every single nerve in your body screaming for you to shove him out, to tell him to rot in hell.

And yet, somehow, the words never left your lips.

Instead, you held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling sharply, tilting your chin up in defiance. "Leave your shoes near the door," you said, voice firm, unwavering. Then, without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked toward your bedroom, every step deliberate, controlled—as if daring him to follow.

Behind you, Atsumu's smirk widened. He toed off his shoes without hesitation, stepping inside with the confidence of someone who had already won.

Every rational part of you screamed that this was a terrible idea, that giving him even this was playing into exactly what he wanted. But another part of you—the part that had felt the full force of his mouth on yours, the part that still burned from the way he had grabbed you,—told you this was inevitable.

The moment the bedroom door shut, the air thickened, charged with something electric, something volatile. Hands clashed in a war of dominance, tearing at clothing like this was less about passion and more about proving a point. Fabric hit the floor in a frenzied, heated mess, discarded in a battle neither of you planned to lose. His grip was rough, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt before yanking it up and over your head with no patience, no hesitation.

You weren’t any gentler. Your hands fisted his hoodie, dragging it up his torso with force, exposing tanned skin and hard muscle, your nails scratching over his ribs just to hear the sharp breath he sucked through his teeth. It was satisfying, watching his composure waver, watching him react to you instead of the other way around. But his eyes burned when they met yours, something dark and dangerous flashing through them as he let the hoodie drop to the floor and stepped closer, pressing you backward, swallowing any satisfaction you might have felt.

His lips found the base of your throat, hot, biting, a stark contrast to the cool air against your flushed skin. He kissed like he fought—ruthless, demanding, relentless. His teeth scraped over your pulse point, lips dragging along the sensitive skin before sinking in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“When are your folks gonna be home?” he muttered against your throat, voice rough, half-amused, half-starved.

The question barely registered, your mind already dizzy from the way his hands slid down your sides, gripping at your waist like he was staking a claim. “Monday,” you managed to breathe out, your voice embarrassingly unsteady.

Atsumu grinned against your skin, that cocky smirk pressing into your flesh, making you want to shove him away just as much as you wanted to pull him closer. “Good.” His breath was hot against your ear as he dragged his lips to your jaw, his voice dropping lower. “Means you can be loud.”

His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, pressing against your throat just enough to make you dizzy, gripping your waist hard enough that you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow. His smirk never faltered, even as his rhythm stuttered when you clenched around him, even as you matched his energy, dragging your nails down his back, leaving marks that would remind him exactly who he was dealing with.

Before you could register it, he pushed you back, guiding you toward the bed with a roughness that sent a pulse of heat down your spine. Your knees hit the mattress, and as you fell back, you reached behind you, flicking open the clasp of your bra and letting it slide off your shoulders. Atsumu's gaze darkened, his hands immediately finding your bare skin, his thumbs swiping over your nipples in a slow, testing motion.

A sharp breath escaped you, and before you could bite it back, he grinned. "Sensitive, huh?" His voice was low, teasing, full of wicked amusement as he leaned in, dragging his tongue over the already aching bud before his teeth grazed it—just enough pressure to make you arch slightly.

The sting made you hiss, your hand shooting up to tangle in his hair, yanking hard. He groaned, the sound reverberating against your skin, but instead of annoyance, his smirk only widened. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips curving against your breast as he let out a breathy chuckle. "That all ya got?"

Heat crept up your neck, a flash of irritation mixing with something else—something dangerous. You could feel the smirk against your skin, smug and insufferable, and without thinking, you decided to wipe it off his face.

Your hand shot down between you, fingers deftly working at his belt, yanking it open with a confidence that made his breath hitch. The sound was satisfying, nearly as much as the way his smirk flickered for half a second when you popped the button on his jeans and dragged the zipper down in one smooth motion.

His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, and the second you wrapped your fingers around him, Atsumu let out a ragged groan, his forehead briefly pressing into your collarbone.

You shouldn’t have looked. You should not have looked. But curiosity got the better of you, and the moment your eyes flickered down, something inside you stuttered.

Fuck. He was bigger than you thought.

Atsumu felt you hesitate. You knew he did because when he looked up, there was something knowing in his gaze, something amused and all too smug.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he drawled, voice thick, teasing. "Bit off more than ya can chew?"

Your grip tightened instinctively around him, wiping the smirk off his face just as quickly as it had returned. But inside, your thoughts were spiraling.

Then, without missing a beat, you scoffed, tilting your head as your fingers gave an almost lazy stroke along his length. "Please," you murmured, voice dripping with defiance, "don’t flatter yourself."

Atsumu’s jaw ticked, the teasing glint in his eyes sharpening into something darker, something more challenging. But before he could throw back one of his usual cocky retorts, you surged forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was all teeth, all aggression, all sheer willpower to stay in control. Your hand still worked him over, slow but deliberate, and you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

For once, he wasn’t smirking.

And that was exactly what you wanted.

His breath came heavier now, his body betraying him even as he tried to maintain his usual smug composure. You didn’t give him time to recover. Your hand kept working over him, stroking slow and firm, and you could feel the way his cock twitched against your palm, how his muscles tensed beneath your touch. He let out a low groan into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, like he was trying to steady himself.

But you weren’t done proving a point.

Atsumu’s grip tightened, and in one swift movement, he pushed you back onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The sudden shift sent a shiver through you, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him through hooded eyes as he reached for the waistband of your pants, fingers toying with the fabric.

He paused, gaze flicking up to meet yours, almost as if he was waiting for you to protest.

You didn’t.

His smirk returned, sharp and knowing. "Knew ya wanted this," he muttered, more to himself than you, and then he hooked his fingers into your pants, dragging them down along with your panties in one slow, torturous motion.

The cool air hit your skin, and that was when it fully sank in—how wet you were, how badly you had needed this despite every ounce of denial you had fed yourself. Atsumu’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, that self-satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth again.

“Well, well,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement as his fingers trailed along the inside of your thigh, not touching where you needed him most, just teasing. “Guess I’m not the only one enjoyin’ this.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, an involuntary reaction you hated, and Atsumu caught it instantly, his smirk deepening with the kind of satisfaction that made your blood boil. Your breath came out sharper than you intended, but you refused to let him get the upper hand.

Grinding your teeth, you quickly recovered, tilting your head with a defiant glare. "Just shut up and fuck me."

Atsumu’s smirk faltered for a split second, and you caught it—the flicker in his eyes, the sharp inhale, the way his grip on your thigh tightened ever so slightly. He tried—tried—to act unfazed, but the way his cock twitched against your leg told you everything you needed to know.

You only smirked, fingers reaching up to drag through his hair, tugging him down until his mouth crashed against yours. If he wanted to act like you weren’t affecting him, you’d just have to prove otherwise.

But then he pulled back, breath ragged, eyes dark with something unreadable. Without a word, he reached for his discarded pants, fishing in the pocket before pulling out a condom. He tore it open with his teeth, rolling it on with a practiced ease that had your stomach flipping.

Atsumu’s gaze flicked to yours as he crawled back over you, spreading your legs apart with both hands, his touch firm, demanding. The tension crackled between you, heavy and intoxicating, his gaze drinking you in like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

And then, finally, finally, he pressed into you—slow, deliberate, stretching you inch by inch until you could feel every bit of him. The sensation was overwhelming, a deep, aching stretch that made your breath falter, your fingers tightening around your sheets as your body adjusted. It felt impossibly slow, like time had deliberately decided to crawl just to make you feel every single inch of him sinking into you, filling you more than you had anticipated, more than you had prepared for.

Your walls clenched involuntarily, the pressure making your body thrum with a mix of pleasure and tension. A choked sound escaped you, something between a gasp and a whimper, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, pooling behind your eyes as the sheer fullness of it sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked at the corners of your vision, unbidden, unexpected, as if your body was trying to process how completely he had taken over your senses.

You almost didn’t dare to look at him. You expected his usual cocky smirk, a teasing remark, some smug comment about how he knew you’d struggle to take him. But when you forced yourself to peek up at him, what you saw made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

Atsumu was wrecked.

At first, you thought he was in pain. His whole body was trembling, jaw locked so tight you could see the tension ripple through him. You blinked, suddenly unsure, shifting slightly beneath him, instinctively moving to push at his chest, to tell him to stop if it was too much—

But the second you moved, Atsumu let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a curse, his hands clamping down hard on your thighs as he all but growled, "Don’t move."

You froze, lips parting in confusion. "Why—"

Then, you saw it.

The way his forehead dropped against yours, the way his entire frame shook with the effort of keeping himself together. His breath was ragged, his nails digging into your skin, his control hanging by a thread so thin you could almost see it snapping.

He wasn’t in pain.

He was holding back.

Holding back from cumming.

The realization sent another wave of heat through you, something dark and wicked unfurling in your chest. He was barely holding on.

And something about that made the heat in your stomach coil tighter, deeper. Seeing him like this—wrecked, struggling, trying so damn hard to hold himself together—was intoxicating. You had spent so long thinking of him as smug, as unshakable, as someone who never let anything get to him. But now? Now he was unraveling above you, and it was because of you.

Your breath caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to shove the thought down as far as it would go. That’s so ridiculously hot.

No. No, you couldn’t let yourself think that, couldn’t let yourself dwell on it, couldn’t let yourself enjoy it. Not with him. Not like this.

You forced yourself to focus, to ease the tension in your body, to relax just enough so it wasn’t as tight, wasn’t as overwhelming for either of you. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself, feeling the way his grip tightened just slightly, like he was waiting, like he was barely managing to hold himself back.

And then, without warning, he thrust into you.

A sharp, unrestrained scream tore from your lips, your entire body jolting at the sudden movement. The sensation of being stretched even further sent a shockwave through your system, a mix of pleasure and sheer overwhelming fullness that made your breath stutter. Your back arched instinctively, hands flying up to cover your mouth, eyes blown wide in disbelief at the abruptness of it.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, your pulse roaring in your ears. The shock took precedence over everything else, and before you could think better of it, you swung your hand out and smacked his shoulder—hard.

“Maybe let me know when you start?!” you half-yelled, voice sharp, breath tumbling out in a shaky exhale as you tried to regain some semblance of composure. Your body was still reeling, trying to adjust to him, and the last thing you needed was to be caught off guard like that.

Atsumu only grinned, completely unbothered by the slap, looking down at you with that insufferable, golden-eyed amusement. His breath was uneven, his jaw tight, but that cocky smirk still curled at his lips like he had all the control in the world.

“What? Thought ya liked surprises, sweetheart,” he teased, voice thick, a little wrecked despite his best efforts to hide it.

As he spoke, he started moving—slow at first, but deep, each thrust deliberate and unrelenting. Whatever sharp remark you had locked and loaded in your brain was lost instantly, the words dying in your throat as a broken moan escaped instead. Your fingers dug into his arms, gripping hard enough to leave marks, your body already responding despite every stubborn effort to resist.

His smirk widened, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "What was that?" he taunted, his pace steady, unhurried, like he was enjoying watching you struggle to hold yourself together.

You tried—tried—to find your voice, to glare at him, to force something cutting past your lips, but all that came was another breathy moan, your head tilting back against the pillow as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

Atsumu chuckled, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear. "Guess ya don’t got much to say now, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers twitching, half a second away from smacking him again. Smug bastard.

But if he thought you were just going to lie there and take it, he had another thing coming.

Your walls clenched deliberately around him in retaliation, squeezing tight just to throw him off his rhythm. The reaction was instant—his breath hitched, his smirk faltering as his jaw clenched hard enough to make his muscles twitch. You felt the tremor that ran through him, the way his fingers dug just a little deeper into your hips, his control barely holding on by a thread.

A satisfied smirk flickered across your lips as you rolled your hips up to meet his thrusts, matching him, challenging him. If he wanted to play smug, you could play harder.

"Fuckin’ hell," Atsumu groaned, voice strained, his movements stuttering before he caught himself. His golden eyes, usually filled with amusement and arrogance, were darker now, hazed over with something dangerously close to desperation.

He exhaled sharply, trying to recover, trying to push past the way you were throwing him off, but you knew. You could see the effort it was taking him to keep control, to not let it slip, and that only made you push more.

His thrusts picked up in response, deeper, more desperate, like he was trying to wrestle back the upper hand. But even he was struggling now, and when he tried to open his mouth for some cocky remark, all that came out was a low, broken moan.

The tension snapped like a live wire between you, the push and pull combusting into something raw, something reckless. His movements grew sharper, more relentless, his grip on your hips tightening as if trying to ground himself, as if trying to drag both of you under with him. The heat pooling in your stomach grew unbearable, white-hot pleasure licking up your spine, making every nerve in your body hum.

Your head tilted back, lips parting as the sensation overwhelmed you. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, the words tumbled from your lips, breathless and pleading.

"Tsumu... harder."

Something inside him snapped.

A sharp curse tore from his throat, his control completely disintegrating as he buried himself deeper, his rhythm shifting from teasing to ruinous. His pace turned brutal, driving into you with a force that sent you arching into the sheets, your fingers clawing at his back, nails dragging down his skin as you lost yourself to the sheer intensity of it.

Every thrust sent you spiraling higher, the coil in your stomach twisting impossibly tight, your entire body trembling from the mounting pleasure. It was too much, too good, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge until—

You shattered.

A choked cry ripped from your throat, pleasure slamming through you in waves, body tensing, back arching, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation ripped a strangled groan from Atsumu, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release, barely holding himself together before he followed, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering moan.

For a long moment, there was nothing but ragged breathing, heavy silence, the lingering heat of everything that had just happened wrapping around you both like a smothering fog. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his chest heaving against yours, the weight of him grounding you in the aftermath of the storm.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled shakily and muttered, "Well... what now?"

Rivalry: Atsumu

It had been years of this.

Years of Atsumu Miya being an unrelenting, aggravating presence in your life.

From the moment you met, he had been insufferable. Smug, fiercely competitive, and persistently irksome, he thrived on pushing every button you had. Every interaction with him was a battle—whether it was a disagreement over training schedules, a critique of his technique, or a casual observation about his erratic setting. He never let anything slide, twisting every word into an argument, every comment into an opportunity to outmaneuver you.

The worst part? You never backed down.

If he provoked, you retaliated. If he smirked, you sneered. He could infuriate you faster than anyone else, and he knew it—and he reveled in it.

And now, in your third year as the Inarizaki team manager, you had mastered the art of tolerating Atsumu Miya—

Until tonight.

Tonight, he’d finally gone too far.

The entire team had long since caught on to your dynamic.

Atsumu didn’t merely annoy you—he made a sport out of it.

If you walked into practice? He was already waiting, arms crossed, a cocky grin stretching across his face as he prepared some quip guaranteed to get under your skin.

“Yer late, manager,” he’d say, despite the fact that you never were.

If you so much as tried to correct something? He’d smirk, feigning surprise. “Oh? Maybe I should just hand ya my setter position, huh?”

And the worst part? The others loved it.

Osamu, Futakuchi, and even Kita occasionally leaned back and observed your fights like a live-action drama, amused by how predictably you two clashed.

“Ya know, at this point, I think ya like the attention,” Atsumu teased one afternoon, casually tossing a volleyball between his hands. “Yer always gettin’ worked up over me.”

You scoffed, arms crossed. “Oh, please. The day I enjoy anything about you is the day hell freezes over.”

Futakuchi nudged Osamu. “Tension’s thick today.”

Osamu smirked. “Give it five minutes. They’ll be yellin’.”

And five minutes later, Atsumu had said exactly the right thing to set you off, and the shouting commenced.

Practice had gone as usual, with only a few sharp remarks exchanged between you and Atsumu before it was over. You were exhausted, your muscles aching from running errands for the team all day, your patience wearing thin. All you wanted was to head home, collapse into bed, and forget that Miya Atsumu existed for a few blessed hours.

The team packed up in the club room, their chatter filling the space as they slung their bags over their shoulders. You barely noticed that Atsumu wasn’t among them as they filed out, too focused on getting the final tasks done so you could lock up and leave.

But when you walked into the gym, your plans crumbled.

Atsumu was still there, alone, setting balls into the air with effortless precision. His expression was intense, brows drawn together in concentration, jaw tight, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only sounds in the gym were the rhythmic thud of the volleyball meeting his hands and the slight squeak of his sneakers against the polished floor as he adjusted his stance.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. Of course. Of course he couldn’t just leave like a normal person.

His shirt clung to his body, damp with sweat, emphasizing the broad set of his shoulders and the way his forearms flexed every time he made contact with the ball. He moved with precision, power behind every motion, muscles tensing and releasing like a well-oiled machine. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good. Infuriatingly good.

But you didn’t care about that right now.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and sighed. "Seriously, Miya? Go home."

He barely looked at you before responding. "Suck my dick."

You scoffed. "You wish. Now pack up, or I’m locking you in here."

He ignored you, setting another perfect ball into the air. That was the last straw. Marching onto the court, you grabbed the nearest volleyball and chucked it at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"You gonna help, or just be a pain in my ass?" he taunted.

You turned on your heel and stormed toward the supply closet, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. The overhead light buzzed faintly as you stepped inside, the scent of disinfectant and old volleyballs filling your nose. Without hesitation, you grabbed a laundry basket full of towels and shoved it into Atsumu’s chest the moment you returned.

“You’re gonna help clean up tonight,” you said sharply, your voice edged with exhaustion and frustration.

Atsumu scoffed, letting the weight settle against his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You stayed late to practice, and I have the keys to the gym. That means you’re packing up before I lock up for the night.”

Atsumu smirked, that lazy, infuriating smirk that made your blood boil. "But you're so much better at those kinds of things, ya know? We all have our strengths."

“Oh? And what's yours?”

He shrugged. “I score points.”

You wanted to strangle him. “I mean off the court, Miya. You brainless egomaniac.”

That smirk widened. "Damn, sweetheart, say it like ya mean it."

Your entire body tensed. If there was one thing—one thing—that set your blood boiling faster than anything, it was that nickname. The way he said it, like it was his own personal joke, a word meant to patronize, to needle at you in a way that no one else dared. It was never affectionate, never playful—not in the way others might say it. No, when Atsumu called you sweetheart, it was dripping with arrogance, a smirk wrapped around syllables meant to get under your skin.

And god, did it work.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, jaw tightening so hard it ached. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

His smirk only grew, as if he had been waiting for that exact reaction. "What? Don't like it? Thought ya might warm up to it by now."

"I'd rather set myself on fire."

Atsumu chuckled, slow and smug, like he'd already won this round. "Now that is dramatic."

You threw a towel at his face, and he caught it effortlessly, his smirk widening. "Temper, temper," he taunted, shaking his head like you were the one being unreasonable. "Y'know, if ya wanted me to get all sweaty cleanin' up, ya coulda just asked nicely." You only roll your eyes in disgust.

“Take those to the supply closet. And don’t start with your usual bullshit, just do what I say for once.”

Atsumu tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something sharp. “Bossy.”

You inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. The way he looked at you—like he thrived on how easily he could rile you up—made your skin prickle. “Miya, I swear to—”

“Fine, fine,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he slung the towels over his shoulder. His smirk deepened as he eyed you, a flicker of amusement dancing behind those infuriatingly sharp eyes. "Must be exhausting bein’ so uptight all the time. Ya ever tried just... relaxin'? Oh, wait, guess that'd require ya to actually remove that stick from  yer ass."

Your blood boiled instantly, a sharp sting of irritation spreading through your chest. Exhaustion and frustration swirled together into something combustible, something that snapped your already frayed patience. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you fought the urge to throw something harder than a towel at his smug, insufferable face. Without thinking, you stomped past him, heading into the supply closet, letting out a frustrated breath as you grabbed another piece of equipment to throw at him if necessary.

"Maybe if your setting was as reliable as your big mouth, I wouldn’t have to waste my breath on you,” you spat, voice cold and cutting.

Atsumu went rigid. His smirk flattened into something unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, burning eyes—flashed with something dark, something livid.

In an instant, he was storming after you. Before you could react, he followed you into the supply closet, his movements sharp and full of barely restrained anger. The door slammed behind him, the echo bouncing off the walls.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" His voice was low, lethal, his usual teasing edge completely gone.

You whirled around, arms crossing over your chest. "You heard me, Miya. Maybe if you focused on actually being consistent instead of running your mouth, you wouldn't have to work overtime trying to convince people you're the best."

His nostrils flared, jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. "You think I got this far by bein' inconsistent? By bein' a fuckin' joke?"

"I think you got this far because you talk so much shit, people actually start to believe it," you bit back. "But I'm not like the rest of your fangirls, Miya. Your act doesn’t work on me."

Atsumu let out a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer. Too close. "Ya really think you know me, huh?" His voice was dangerous now, quiet and sharp like a blade pressed just beneath your skin. "Yer full of shit."

"And you're full of yourself."

The air was thick, charged with something volatile, something unstable. His hands were curled into fists, his breath coming in sharp exhales. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fury rolling off in waves.

You scoffed in disgust, shaking your head as a bitter smirk pulled at your lips. "You're pathetic."

Atsumu’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening dangerously, but you were already turning away, reaching for the door handle to get as far away from him as possible.

Then your stomach dropped.

The knob refused to turn.

Atsumu frowned. "The hell are ya doin’?"

You twisted the knob again, harder. Still nothing.

Your throat went dry. "The door is locked."

Atsumu snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure it is." He reached out, confidently twisting the handle—

Nothing.

Atsumu frowned, twisting harder. Still nothing.

Silence.

Then, without missing a beat—

“Yeah, like I didn’t try that,” you deadpanned.

Atsumu’s scowl deepened, his frustration crackling in the air between you. "You’ve gotta be fuckin' kidding me. This is all your fault."

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. "Oh, right, because I totally planned to lock myself in a closet with you of all people."

"Yer mouth sure makes it sound like ya did." His voice was low, edged with something sharp. "Maybe ya just wanted me all to yourself."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Please. If I wanted something all to myself, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you."

Atsumu took a step closer, his presence closing in on you like a storm. "Keep talkin’, princess. Let’s see if ya can keep that smart mouth runnin’ when we’re stuck in here all night."

"Oh, fuck you, Miya," you snapped, stepping forward to meet his glare head-on. "You are without a doubt the most infuriating, self-obsessed asshole I have ever met."

His lips curled into a sneer. "And you’re the most uptight, high-strung pain in the ass I’ve ever met."

"Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t have to spend every waking second convincing everyone I’m the best. News flash—if you actually were, you wouldn’t have to try so hard."

His eyes darkened, his entire body stiffening at your words. "You wanna talk about trying too hard? How ‘bout ya take a fuckin’ look in the mirror? Always actin’ like ya hate me, but yer always up in my business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ya like this."

You scoffed, tilting your head in disbelief. "God, you’re delusional."

"And you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite." He was even closer now, his breath hot, his voice tight with rage. "You always act like ya can’t stand me, but here ya are, pushin’ up against me like ya wanna make this somethin’ else."

The worst part?

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Your chests were nearly brushing, your ragged breaths intermingling. Your skin was burning, your hands clenched at your sides, every inch of you wound too tight. The anger, the frustration, the way he always got under your skin—it was all-consuming.

And then, suddenly, neither of you were talking anymore.

Atsumu’s mouth was on yours before you could process it, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was just as furious as your fights. You yanked him down by the collar, fingers tangling into the damp fabric of his shirt, pulling him in hard enough to hurt. He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, pressing you back against the closet shelves as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was years of pent-up aggression and frustration, a battle neither of you wanted to win. Teeth clashed, hands grabbed, nails dug into skin. The heat between you was unbearable, suffocating, and neither of you had the willpower to pull away.

Atsumu nipped at your bottom lip, his breath hot against your mouth as he muttered, "Knew ya wanted me."

Shut up, Miya." You bit back.

And then you kissed him again, drowning out whatever cocky response he had left.

Atsumu wasn’t satisfied with just kissing you. His frustration, his irritation, his hunger bled into every movement as he pushed forward, backing you up until your spine hit the cold surface of the supply closet door. The impact barely registered, not when his hands were gripping at your waist, fingers digging into your sides like he was trying to mark you, claim some kind of dominance even here.

You gasped against his mouth, the moment of vulnerability only spurring him on. His lips left yours for half a second—just long enough for him to smirk. “Told ya,” he murmured, voice husky, breath hot against your skin. “You just needed me to shut ya up properly.”

You barely had time to react before he was kissing you again, harder, more desperate. Your hands found their way to his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck and pulling—a move that ripped a deep, guttural groan from his throat. The sound shot straight down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.

His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs, and without a second of hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He held you effortlessly, as if supporting your weight meant nothing to him. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, making you shudder. He lingered there, his teeth scraping before his mouth latched onto your skin with deliberate pressure. You barely registered the sensation, too caught up in the heat of the moment, too focused on the way his body pressed against yours. But his smirk against your neck said otherwise—like he knew exactly what he was doing, leaving his mark before trailing his lips back to yours.

The warmth of his touch burned through the thin fabric of your clothes, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made your head spin. His hands started to wander, moving up beneath your shirt, his touch searing—

And then the door burst open.

Atsumu lost his balance. With a startled grunt, he stumbled forward, dragging you with him as you both spilled out of the closet and onto the hard gym floor.

“What the hell?!”

You barely had time to register the situation before a voice rang out above you.

“The fuck are you two doin’ in here?”

Your eyes shot up to see the janitor, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, face twisted in the most unimpressed expression you had ever seen.

Silence.

Neither you nor Atsumu moved. You were still on top of him, his hands still on your thighs, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders. The position was beyond compromising.

The janitor raised an eyebrow. “I ain’t cleanin’ up after this.”

Atsumu let out a breathless chuckle beneath you, his smirk returning full force. “Guess we got caught, huh, sweetheart?”You shoved him off you so hard he hit the floor with a thud, scrambling to your feet, face burning with embarrassment. “Shut up, Miya!”

Husbandry: Miya Atsumu

Atsumu had absolutely no qualms with his life at the moment. In fear of jinxing it, he could say it was damn near perfect. He had accomplished his professional dream, being on Japan's Olympic Volleyball team, alongside teammates who have known and played with almost half his life. The people he considered to be the highest of the high. To make things better, he had you by his side, the greatest gift he's ever gotten (He'd tell you but you'd laugh at him for being too cheesy). You two had quite the blissful marriage, and with finding out a few weeks ago that you were pregnant with twins, he couldn't be happier with you.

Atsumu had been checking his hair out in the bathroom, prepping it for a luncheon he, and subsequently you, were invited to by the Japan Volleyball Association.

"Fuck!"

Atsumu hears you shriek out of frustration from the other room. He jumps almost immediately, rushing in to see what was causing you alarm. Whipping around the door frame, arms up to defend his wife, his adrenaline dissipates as he finds you in front of your vanity mirror struggling to zip up what was your favourite dress, but has recently become your most hated. Your bump stretched the dress, making it hard for the ends to come around let alone the zipper. Your face is red with effort, and with a lot of emotion swirling in your eyes. "Hey, hey, you okay?" He calls out your name softly, which usually made you calmer, but in this mood, your temper only flared. So of course, you begin to cry. "No, I'm not okay! I wanted to wear this dress and it doesn't fit! Nothing fits me, and I've gotten fat!" You break, spilling your guts as well as your tears, letting the tension break away from you. Immediately, Astumu is at your side, hugging you and allowing you to bury your face in his chest. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, trying to get you to calm down. "Babe, who on earth said you're fat? You're pregnant." He gave you a squeeze, talking gently in your ear, but you shook your head. "But I got so big so fast!" You were whining now, and while Atsumu knew you were genuinely upset, he couldn't help but smile. Still, he gave you a reassuring kiss on your head. "Well yeah, there's two of em' in there." His hands went from your back to your swollen stomach, "They need room to grow." And you groan, being dramatic. "But what if at the party they think I'm fat?" You ramble, clutching Atsumu's steamed shirt. Your husband stutters, trying to think of the right answer. "I'll... Make sure to let everyone know we're pregnant?" "What?! I don't want people to know we're doing it!" Atsumu gives you a look of pure confusion. Atsumu blinked at you, his lips slightly parted in disbelief. "Sweetheart," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, "you do know that's how babies happen, right? I mean, it ain't exactly a secret how we got here."

You groaned, your cheeks heating up. "I know that! But still, I don’t want them thinking about it. It's embarrassing!"

He couldn't help it—he laughed. A real, loud, genuine laugh that shook his shoulders and made his head tilt back. His amusement was contagious, and despite your earlier frustration, you felt your lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

"You’re somethin’ else, you know that?" Atsumu said, grinning as he wiped the corner of his eye. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head again, his hands gently squeezing your waist. "But if you don’t want people thinking about it, fine. I won’t say a word. But listen here—if anyone tries to say somethin' stupid about you tonight, I’ll let 'em know exactly how proud I am of you. No one messes with my wife."

You sniffled, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. "You promise?"

"Cross my heart, darlin’." He tilted your chin up with his thumb, meeting your watery gaze. "And for the record, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t you dare let that dress or anyone at that party tell you otherwise. Got it?"

"But what if—"

"No 'what ifs.'" Atsumu cut you off gently but firmly, resting his forehead against yours. "You’re not just my wife; you’re also the woman growin’ two babies, and if that ain’t somethin’ amazing, I dunno what is. So wear somethin’ that makes you feel comfy, and we’ll go in there and show everyone how perfect ya are—bump, dress, and all."

You sighed, leaning into him. "You always know what to say, don’t you?"

He smirked. "Nah, sometimes I wing it and hope for the best. But I’m glad this worked."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension finally easing from your body. Atsumu, satisfied with your soft giggle, gave you another quick kiss before pulling back and gently guiding you to sit down on the bed.

"Stay put. I’ll pick you somethin’ else," he said, already heading to the closet.

"Wait, you’re picking my outfit?" You raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. "Trust me, babe. I got this."

You weren’t entirely sure you did trust him, but the way he moved so determinedly between your closet and the mirror made you feel a little lighter. Besides, how could you not feel cared for when your husband was doing everything in his power to make sure you felt confident and loved?

Minutes later, Atsumu returned holding a simple but elegant dress you hadn’t worn in years. It was loose enough to accommodate your bump but still flattering in all the right ways. "Try this," he said, holding it up proudly.

You stood and slipped it on, and to your surprise, it fit perfectly. When you turned to face the mirror, Atsumu’s reflection was beaming behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"See? Told ya I got good taste," he said, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Thanks, 'Tsumu."

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice soft and full of love.

As you both got ready to leave for the luncheon, Atsumu leaned in one last time, his hand resting protectively over your belly. "Y’know," he whispered, "they’re real lucky to have you as their mom."

You smiled, your earlier worries completely forgotten. "And they’re lucky to have you as their dad."

With that, you headed out together, feeling lighter than you had all day.